Star Sky
by Nynenea
Summary: After fulfilling her purpose of slaying the World Eater and winning the Civil War in Skyrim, the Dragonborn travels to Cyrodiil. But the challenge she finds isn't the one she was looking for.. Includes the BeyondSkyrim:Bruma mod
1. Chapter One

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim (if you don't know their mod, I highly recommend checking it out. Seriously, I nearly wept when I was able to cross the border.) __No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_A/N: Normally if a character catches my attention I search for fanfictions. Normally I find some to obsess about that character even more. Not this time. It really bothered me, in fact it bothered me that much that I decided to write my own – with no intention of publishing. Like ever. But after turning 30 last week I experienced a lot of "Screw it, let's see what happens" moments and here we are.._

* * *

Chapter One

The Ragged Flagon was strangely empty for this time of the evening. Earlier a very drunk Thrynn had challenged Niruin at shooting empty mead bottles off of the Crown of Barenziah which led to nearly all of the Flagons inhabitants joyfully following the two opponents while Brynjolfs face grew paler than usual. He had muttered something about shorten everyones cut should the crown be harmed.

Muriel looked down at her now empty mug.

"Can you give me another?" She smiled to Vekel and fished two coins out of her pocket.

"Sure." He filled her mug once more before pocketing the coins.

Muriel rested her elbows on the bar top and rubbed her eyes. She sure was getting a headache, she could already feel it creeping up behind her eyes. Headaches were like a constant companion these days.

For the last months she hadn't slept well. It was the same dream over and over again that disturbed her night's rest. If she was lucky she got about three hours without waking up and feeling the need to walk a few rounds around Riften's planks. The guards already knew of her habit; at first they had wondered and tried to strike up conversation, but now they just nodded at her, sometimes joined her on her aimless wanderings.

She let her eyes wander through the underground tavern. Tonilia was sitting at one of the tables, scribbling something on a role of paper, stacks of coins in front of her.

Muriel caught the fence's eyes and threw her a little smile before returning her eyes to her drink. The Redguard and she got along well, but Muriel wanted to be alone with her thoughts this evening. That, too, was something occurring a lot more these days.

She sighed and took another sip.

The door to the Cistern opened and a chortling Delvin appeared in the hallway.

"I swear Brynjolf' gonna have all of their heads. There 're arrows everywhere, those damn fools", he called to noone in particular and disappeared to the little room behind the Flagon. Probably heading in for the night.

Vekel chuckeled and winked at Muriel. "You want another? You look quite thirsty tonight."

Muriel looked down at her again nearly empty mug - w__hen had that happened?___ \- _and considered it. She knew the alcohol would get her sleepy but it was a treacherous peace and wouldn't help her in the long run.

"Nah, I'm good", she said and decided to call it a night.

She heaved her body of the barstool and headed towards the exit. Unlike the other thieves she didn't live in the Ratways. She had for a while though, but with the Civil War won by the Empire she had gladly accepted the opportunity Maven Black-Briar offered and bought Honeyside. It was much more pleasant to wake up to the view of Lake Honrich than the dripping ceiling of the Cistern.

"Night", she waved over her shoulder and heard Vekel and Tonilia mutter a goodbye. The couple was probably glad to finally have a few minutes for themselves.

Avoiding the bucket and broom leaning the wall – seriously who had put that there? More than once Muriel had stumbled over that damn thing – she walked through the fake cabinet and pushed the door to the Cistern open.

On the other side of the large circular room she saw the rest of the thieves in a crowd around the Guildmaster's desk. She spotted Brynjolf's red hair on the edge of the basin and a smile tugged on the corner of her mouth - the second-in-command looked defeated and desperate.

Muriel threw him a sympathetic look before making her way to the ladder that led out of Riften's underground. She nearly reached the exit as fast steps stopped her.

"Oi, lass!" Brynjolf came jogging her way. "Do you have a moment?"

Muriel turned around. "Sure. Why don't you walk me home?" She smiled at the Nord. Brynjolf was one of the few people she considered her friend. She knew that there were rumours in the Guild about the two of them being more than friends and colleagues but she didn't care.

The older thief had flirted with her in the beginning but his sometimes teasing comments no longer made her uncomfortable; she had learned that it was just his way of talking. Especially with woman even though she had seen him make some grown men on the market blush, too.

Now his eyes were weary and darted anxiously back to the group of thieves across the room.

Niruin had started to lecture Vex about the right way to hold a bow and she – uncharacteristically – giggled as his hands guided hers. The blonde had to be seriously wasted to let her self-control slide like this and Muriel decided that she'd come in late tomorrow to avoid Vex's hungover mood.

"Sorry, lass, I really don't want to leave those drunkard alone with the crown. Before you came through I just stopped them from wearing it.."

Muriel chuckeled at the thought of it but she was glad Brynjolf had an eye on the treasures. After all, it had taken her quite some time and effort to collect those things. Being the official Guildmaster she was aware that it was actually her duty – not Brynjolf's – to keep the others in line and not let them ruin the achievements of the Guild but her headache was gnawing on her. Brynjolf had shown understanding for her mental condition ever since she had returned from High Hrothgar a few month ago and she had accepted his help without resistance.

"Okay then.. what did you want to talk about?"

"I've been thinking about expanding the Guild's influence."

Muriel raised an eyebrow. "And you have to talk about that now?"

"Ah well, I wanted to talk to you for a while but it never seemed like the right time."

"And now's the right time?", she said frowning. In the back she heard an arrow hit the Bust of the Gray Fox on the desk.

Brynjolf cringed. "Hm.. not really. But you could think about it and we could talk tomorrow?"

"We just established our influence in all of the major cities of Skyrim, Bryn..", Muriel sighed. That also had been a lot of work.

"I know that." He smiled down at her. "All thanks to you."

"So why then? Maybe we should be happy with what we have achieved here. You know.. not get too greedy?"

His smile grew wider. "Well what can I say, lass? I'm a thief by heart. Greedy comes with the job description."

"Well okay..", she backed down. "Theoretically speaking.. tell me your thoughts. Where do you want the Guild to drive fear in the heart of every wealthy law-abiding citizen?"

"I was thinking about Bruma."  
"Bruma?" She hesitated.

From what she knew Bruma was a city and county north of the Imperial City, not unlike many cities up here in Skyrim. Many years ago she had even seen the stone city walls from afar. Back when she had tried – and succeeded - to cross the border to Skyrim...

Muriel looked thoughtfully at Brynjolf. "Why Bruma?"

He ran his hand over his face before answering. "Well first of all – it's close. We wouldn't need to build all the contacts on the other side of the border. We can get in, bring the goods here and sell them in Skyrim. There's an old cave called Serpent's Trail. A smuggler route leading straight through the Jerall Mountains."

That didn't sound very reasonable. She frowned but before she could vocalize her concerns he quickly continued.

"Word is the count of Bruma, Desilus Carvain, in continuing the family tradition and has a huge collection of Akaviri artifacts. Can you imagine what's that stuff worth, lass?"

Brynjolf widely smiled at her with shining eyes. She couldn't keep up her serious expression looking at his childish joy of the possibility of getting his hands on one – or more – of those artifacts, even if she admittedly knew nothing about Akaviri artifacts. She couldn't resist a little smile; it was intriguing.

"I need to think about that.. and for now I have to crawl in my bed." Muriel surpressed a yawn.

"You do that, lass", he said gently. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow. Good night, Bryn."

"Good night, lass."

When Muriel turned once more to the ladder she could hear something shatter from across the room. Brynjolf hurried back to the others mumbling curses under his breath.

__You can deal with that tomorrow__, she thought to herself and finally climbing up the ladder to the hidden entrance in the graveyard.

After hours of the dampness of the undergrounds the young woman greedily drank in the chill air and let her eyes wander across the night sky. The stars shone beautiful tonight and so she just stood between the graves for a while. Thankfully even in Morning Star the temperatures in Riften never dropped as low as in the rest of Skyrim. In High Rock the weather had always been milder but after all, the western country wasn't surrounded by a mountain chain and received warmer winds from the sea and Hammerfell's deserts.

An approaching light announced a guard on patrol and Muriel quickly left through the passage to the Temple of Mara to avoid him. Even though she was a known resident of Riften, it would be unwise to draw too much attention to the hidden entrance. Besides, standing on a graveyard in the middle of the night would lead to a lot of questions. Stepping silently over the wooden planks she crossed the market place, turned right and soon reached Honeyside. She had grown fond of the cozy house over the past months and it became one of her favourite places. In the years of her travels she had become quite wealthy and with the right relationships she had collected several places she called home now.

With a slightly sad smile she opened the door in front of her. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had bought Breezehome back in Whiterun. The small house had been her first residence in Skyrim and the first step towards a new life. It had felt so exciting to call it home. Now excitement came rarer and rarer.

She left her boots and cape right in the kitchen, threw the gloves on the dining table and headed to the bedroom. The leather armor was carelessly left on the floor as she crawled under the covers in her linen undergarment.

Her drink at the Ragged Flagon had made her tired enough and so there was hope for a few hours of rest.

* * *

The next morning greeted Muriel with pelting rain. She stared at the ceiling for a while before she felt able to get up. Her sleep had been disturbed several times and so she had tossed and turned for the better part of the night.

She got to the kitchen to stir the fire and make herself some tea that hopefully would wake up her senses. As the water in the kettle started simmering, a knock at the front door broke the peace.

Muriel frowned. She really wasn't a morning person and it was even worse when someone decided to pay her an unannounced visit. Sorely tempted to ignore the unwanted visitor she threw a few herbs into the kettle as another knock was heard. She sighed.

"Muriel? Are you there, lass?", Brynjolf's voice came through the door. That man was way to cheerful for this time of the day.

With another sigh Muriel opened the door and leaned her head against the frame. The redheaded Nord beamed at her. He seemed completely oblivious of the rain dripping over his hood.

"There you are! Good morning!" His smile slowly dropped. "You look awful, lass."

Muriel snorted and cleared the doorway to let him in.

She ran her hand through her hair and could feel the knots between her fingers. That was something she needed to take care of before leaving her house.

"Be with you in a minute", she murmered and left the kitchen to get dressed.

As she closed the last buckle of her armor – she got so used to it that other clothes always made her feel awkward – she heard Brynjolf pouring the tea into mugs.

Back in the living area of the house she thankfully accepted the offered mug and sank into one of the chairs with a sigh. He looked at her in thought as he seated himself on the other side of the table. Muriel took a sip from the hot brew and met his gaze.

"Rough night?", the Nord guessed.

"Nothing I'm not used to..", she answered with a grimace. "Is the Crown still in one piece?"

Brynjolf's face darkened for a moment. "They didn't break anything but it wasn't due to their good marksmanship. Nocturnal seemed to have mercy with us last night."

Muriel didn't answer but she couldn't imagine the Daedric Prince to care about some drunk thieves fooling around.

"When I left this morning I told Thrynn that I don't want to find a single arrow when I return. I certainly hope he forgets one – I have a really demeaning job for him in that case.."

She gave him a crooked smile but didn't really listen. Absent-minded she took another sip of her tea.

He remained silent for a moment. "Are you alright?"

"What do you mean?", the Breton asked with a yawn.

"You know.. I worry about you. You seem..off." His hands played with his mug. "You don't sleep very well, do you? You act restless. Ever since you came back from..." She shot him a glance and he stopped.

"Don't get me wrong", he continued. "You still do as many jobs as the others, more even. The treasures in our vault are mainly your achievement. But your mind is always so.. absent."

"Do you want to say I'm making mistakes? Am I doing a bad job?", she sharply asked.

"No, lass", he said gently. "I'm just wondering.. when did it become merely work?"

That took her off guard. "I..I'm not sure what you mean."

Brynjolf's eyes gleamed with understanding. "It's alright. It happens to most of us."

Unsure of what to reply, she kept silent.

"There are thieves who steal for survival and then there are thieves like you and I who do it for the thrill. And the profit, of course." He threw her a crooked smile.

Muriel sighed deeply and ran her hand over her face. "It has nothing to do with the Guild, you know. It's just.. with Alduin I felt like I had a purpose... and now.. everything just feels so.. mundane."

"Well, after saving the world and all of that..", he said with a soft chuckle.

She grimaced. "Im sorry, Bryn. I must sound so ungrateful.."

"Don't worry about that, lass", he shrugged off her apology. "None of us had to do the things you had to do."

They exchanged a warm smile. Muriel knew that he wasn't disappointed by her and she was surprised she had doubted it for a short moment. Brynjolf was and always had been someone who supported her right from the beginning.

"But that brings me to the actual reason behind my visit", Brynjolf continued and the suspicious smile was back in his eyes. "You might remember the thing I suggested yesterday?"

"Yes and I haven't thought about it yet. I was sleeping."

"I thought you were awake most of the night?", he asked innocently.

Muriel threw one of her gloves at him and pouted. The other thief laughed as the glove missed him, hit the shelf behind him and sent some bottles of mead to the floor. They rolled over the floor but neither of them bothered.

"Well I at least had some more thoughts about it", he said and winked at her. "You are right, the Guild is doing far better than we did in years. We don't really _need_ to go to Cyrodiil."

He leaned forward. "And maybe building a working network over there is just a childish fantasy of mine, but I at least would like to know if we can pull off something like stealing those artifacts from right under some spoiled aristocrat's nose."

She looked at him warily. "You mean... like just for sport?"

"If you like, see it as a challenge."

"You challenge me?", Muriel asked with raised eyebrows. Even though she knew it was a crazy idea, she started considering it. Damn that man.

_Could they do it?_

Brynjolf really knew how to attract her attention by appealing to her pride and curiosity.

The satisified smile on his face betrayed his innocent voice. "Seems like I do, lass."

They gazed at each other for a few moments and Brynjolf could literally see the wheels turning in her head. He knew he had won.

"Tell you what... I will send a letter to Enthir to see if he can find some books about Akaviri artifacts in the College's library. For my part, I know nothing about Akavir. Let me try to find out if it's worth the trouble", she said with a sober voice.

The Nord chuckled. "Of course. See, that's why you're the Guildmaster."

* * *

After that Brynjolf excused himself to head to his market stand. Even though the Guild was doing better these days, he held onto his stand as some kind of sentimental reminder of past and less prosperous times.

Muriel didn't mind. Her second-in-command took over most of the day to day business of the Guild and barely did jobs himself anymore. She knew he missed that sometimes.

Finishing her tea, her thoughts circled around Bruma and the idea of actually going there. The thought of stealing something out of a well guarded castle tempted her. In Skyrim she was well known by most of the Jarls and so she was able to walk through their homes unbothered. Many treasures had wandered into her pockets unseen by the guards and sometimes she couldn't help but wonder if it was because of her skill as a thief or if the Jarls simply looked the other way because of her status. Either way it wasn't a challenge anymore.

The Breton sighed and decided to write that letter to Winterhold as soon as possible. Normally she wouldn't communicate with a fence via letter – mainly not to endanger them – but under no circumstances she'd travel to Winterhold this time of the year. The northern coast was inhospitable even in the warmer month and the thought of fighting her way through the cold winter storms repelled her.

She went to the bedroom to quickly fix her messy hair and braided it to keep it out of her eyes. To fade the signs of her sleepless night, she threw some of the cold water from the basin in her face.

In the basement she found a roll of paper and some ink and after she was satisified with the letter, she headed out to find a courier.

Fortunately the rain had ceased but Muriel put on her hood nevertheless. She strolled to the Bee and Barb in hope to find a courier to deliver her letter. Normally she avoided the inn. Her last memory of an evening there was slightly embarrassing mix of too much mead, dancing with a broom and her clinging to that mercenary Marcurio. To this day she wasn't sure if she ended up taking him to her bed as she had woken up alone but undressed, with a strange feeling and lack of memory.

Besides, the Argonian owners weren't to fond of her after she had collected Keerava's dept and so she prefered to spent her evenings in the Ragged Flagon.

She entered the inn from the north-eastern entrance and was glad to see the only person present beside Keerava was a courier she had encountered before sitting at one of the tables.

"Where are you heading?", she asked after greeting the man.

"Windhelm, as soon as I'm finished with breakfast."

"I need this to be delivered to the College of Winterhold. Can you do that?"

He frowned. "I could...", he answered slowly. "But the roads are very difficult this time of the year. It will cost you."

Muriel had expected as much. After they agreed on the price, she handed the sealed paper roll over and left the inn.

Now all she could do was to wait for Enthir to answer.


	2. Chapter Two

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim (if you don't know their mod, I highly recommend checking it out. Seriously, I nearly wept when I was able to cross the border.) No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

* * *

Chapter Two

The answer came a few weeks later. Not that Muriel had expected the letter any time sooner, but she found herself being more impatient than she would ever admit to Brynjolf.

The courier found her on her way to the Thieves Guild and handed her a medium sized leather-bound package. She had to hold back her excitement and withstand the temptation of ripping it open right away. With faster steps than before she made her way to the Cistern. Brynjolf was sitting at the Guildmaster's desk with some parchments in front of him. He looked up when he heard her approaching steps.

A smile beamed over his face when he saw the package in her hands.

"So he answered? What does he say? Did he find some information?"

"No, these are my new boots from Radiant Rayment. They are made out of sabre cat pelt and thought I'd wear them with my..."

Brynjolf rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright... got it."

"Calm down, Bryn", Muriel said with a wink. "I haven't opened it yet."

"I'll leave you to it, then. Had to give these jobs to Delvin anyways... sabre cat, hm?"

"I really like the pattern", Muriel breathed with a dreamy smile. He left her shaking his head.

She set the package down on the desk and seated herself. It was still strange to sit here and mentally she still referred to it as "Mercer's desk" even though she tried not to mention that to Brynjolf. The betrayal of the last Guildmaster had hit him hard.

With a dagger she carefully cut the rope and unfolded the leather. There were several folded sheets of paper and a heavy book; "Mysterious Akavir" it said.

Laying it aside for now she first read through the several pages long letter. After being done she simply sat at the desk with crossed arms and deep in thought. Enthir's letter hadn't brought the answers she'd hoped it would. There seemed to be little information available and he apologized for not being of more help. The book he had sent was a not very detailed summary of the knowledge about the continent Akavir, its people and their culture. Muriel remembered holding a similar book in her hands once, but she had tossed it aside because back then only the books containing Alduin had interested her.

Furthermore Enthir described the translation of a diary he was unable to sent - or "Urag gro-Shub would wear my skin as a cloak" as he said. The diary mainly confirmed that the Akaviri had indeed been in County Bruma a long time ago – that was probably the reason the family of the Count had started collecting the artifacts in the first place.

Brynjolf found her brooding when he returned.

"You don't look happy, lass. Bad news?"

"No news at all as it appears. There just doesn't seem to be much information." Muriel rubbed her eyes in frustration. The thought of going to Bruma with a real task had really grown on her in the last weeks and she had caught herself daydreaming about the opportunity. Seeing new places, having a goal again - all of that seemed to recede into the distance now.  
The second-in-command tried to hide his disappointed look. "We could still go..."

"Sending a member of the Guild outside of our reach just because you heard a rumour?"

"Eh - probably not... a man can still dream, right?"

* * *

Three weeks passed and on the 25th of First Seed Muriel left Riften to travel north. In her backpack was the book from the College which she intended to return. Furthermore she had let Delvin assign her to a job in Winterhold to make the journey more purposeful.

The air was filled with the first touch of spring as Muriel passed the stables. In High Rock today would be celebrated as Flower Day and even though she remembered the traditions she had grown up with, she didn't mention it to her fellow thieves. When she had entered the Flaggon this morning a single purple flower had lain on her desk and Delvin as a fellow Breton had winked at her knowingly.

With a smile Muriel touched the flower now tugged behind her ear and directed her steps toward Eastmarch. As usual she prefered to travel by foot even though a horse meant reaching her destination faster. It was hard to react to an arising thread from the back of a horse and Muriel had grown tired of chasing after the panicked animal when the fighting was done.

The journey would be hard but at least it would take her brooding mind off of Bruma. Ever since Brynjolf had mentioned it, she found her thoughts fall back on the topic but she always reasoned herself out of it. All it would prove was whether or not she was able to do it and that was a purely selfish thought.

It took her three days to reach Windhelm where she rested and another two until the first houses of Winterhold came into view. The cold wind of the north was still strong and it blew constantly. By the fourth day Muriel had already regretted the journey. She hated the harsh weather up on the coast and she wasn't a Nord. The natives of Skyrim never seemed to be bothered by the cold but to her every icy blast of wind was one too many.

As she pushed open the door to The Frozen Hearth to check in, she had already decided to head back to Riften as soon as her business was done. Winterhold just wasn't the place for her. The weather was too cold, the people too few and the overall atmosphere depressing. It sure must have been beautiful before the Great Collapse but that was a long time ago and the ruins on the edge of the city stood there like a graveyard of long forgotten glory.

After the innkeeper assigned her to her room, she left again. At least returning the book was something she could accomplish today.

Walking over the bridge to reach the college, she tried not to look anywhere except her feet. The bridge was broken in several spots and she had always wondered if it was held together by magic or sheer force of will. It seemed like a lifetime ago since she had first walked over the pathway high in the winds and it still felt like a miracle that they had let her pass through after her pathetic flame spell. For a Breton her magic was below mediocre and she grudgingly had to accept that she would never reach a level beyond Novice. So she had left the college and had only returned to contact Enthir for the Thieves Guild.

Once accepted to the mages college, one was allowed to return anytime and Muriel enjoyed having access to the library even though she didn't plan of ever returning to the studies of magic. No one knew when it would be useful.

Muriel stayed in Winterhold for two days. With Enthir she spent a pleasant evening at the inn where she fed him all new informations and rumours regarding the Guild while the Bosmer kept buying her drinks.

The rest of her time there she spent watching her assigned target Malur Seloth. Even though he was the Jarl's Stewart he didn't seem to work at all and wasn't willing to change that. She came to the conclusion that she didn't like the Dunmer and was glad to lighten his pockets in an unseen moment.

After fighting her way back through the icy wasteland of Skyrim's coast and the swamps of Eastmarch Muriel was relieved when the first forests of the Rift came into view. Somewhere around Cragslane Cavern two bears had attacked her and even though she was unharmed they had managed to tear her backpack apart. She was forced to secure its content with her belt but it meant she had to carry Dawnbreaker by hand.

Despite the already setting sun Muriel pushed forward. The prospect of spending the night within city walls fastened her steps and so she reached Riften two hours before midnight. It was too late to give her backpack to the smith for repairs and so she dropped it off at Honeyside before going to the Ragged Flagon. She felt tired but it wasn't enough to actually sleep.

The Cistern was abandoned, its residents were all at the tavern by the sound of it. Cheerful laughter was heard her as she entered the Flagon and she was greeted by a warm wave of welcoming shouts.

Dirge and Vipir were apparently in the middle of a drinking contest while most of the rest stood around them watching. Vekel was behind his bar cleaning mugs and shaking his head at the two opponents.

Muriel made her way through the room and found an empty chair next to a frowning Vex.

"Pleasant journey?", the Imperial asked without taking her eyes of the table across from them. Dirge was gulping his mead with such speed that Muriel felt sick just by looking at it. Vex slided a mug of mead to her. "Here, trust me, you'll need this."

Muriel smiled slightly. "The journey was mainly uneventful."

"Did it take your mind off Bruma?" Muriel gave her a surprised look. She hadn't realised that she was this transparent.

Vex finally tore away from the drinking men and examined the Breton sharply.

"Brynjolf told me", she cleared up.

Muriel leaned back and sighed in frustration. "Since you're asking... no, it actually didn't."

The other woman simply nodded but before they could go any deeper on that topic, Brynjolf joined them and insisted they had to drink up because he was buying the next round.

Muriel downed her mead and already knew that this was a mistake. She hadn't eaten since her last break on the road around noon and the alcohol in her empty stomach seemed to work right away. After the second round she already felt light-headed. Next to her Vex and Brynjolf were caught up in a discussion about the importance of Invisibility Potions with Vex arguing that every thief should have a few with them in case of an emergency and Brynjolf claiming that only thieves whose skills weren't high enough took the help of potions. It was hard to follow the two of them and Muriel felt her mind wander off. She knew that his argument was feeble at most as he theoretically could chose Nocturnal's gift of becoming an Agent of Stealth like she had back in the Twilight Sepulcher. She didn't use it frequently, though, but it was reassuring to have a backup plan.

"...I bet our Guildmaster will use Invisibility Potions when going to Bruma!", Vex said heatedly.

That drew her attention back to the argument. "__When __I'm going? I thought that plan was abandoned."

"Of course you're going", the Imperial answered dryly. She and Brynjolf exchanged a look.

"Most of the Guild thinks you should, lass."

Muriel blinked at them in confusion. Her drunk brain didn't seem to process the situation at the right speed. "What do you mean by 'most of the Guild'? Have you discussed this with everybody?"

"Well.. no, not on purpose. Rune heard us talking the other day and I couldn't stop it from spreading...", Brynjolf answered sheepishly.

Muriel growled lowly. She loved the Guild but they could be really frustrating at times. Especially when the anarchistic side that every thief more or less had came out and sometimes they simply ignored the Guildmaster. Muriel knew that she was to blame on that matter - she rarely insisted enough and never thought about punishing someone for disobedience.

"Look, Muriel.. the Guild's family and we don't like our family members gloomy." Vex's voice was more gentle than it was her usual way. Apparently she was serious about the matter.

"We think it would help you to be yourself again, lass", Brynjolf stepped in.

Muriel looked at them sharply for a long time. The other two thieves watched her in anticipation but remained silent.

"What about the border? Isn't it supposed to be locked down?", she finally asked.

A bright smile flashed across Brynjolf's face. "I don't know for sure but it's a fact that it was closed because of the war. And I know someone who nearly single-handedly ended said war." Muriel rolled her eyes at his exaggeration. He tried to get on her good side again. "I have a feeling that they will let the hero of the Civil War and slayer of Alduin through", he quickly added completely ignoring her expression.

"This Dragonborn business has to be good for something, right?", Vex threw in sarcastically.

The Breton scowled at them for a long time. That she should be able to cross over couldn't be denied. A part of her mind still argued that she should do the reasonable thing and stay here. And yet – the last time she had done something simply because she wanted to had been before she had come to Skyrim. Actually the very decision of crossing the border the last time had been her last truly selfish action. A little rebellious voice awoke in the back of her mind.

__Wouldn't it be appropriate to cross the border again this time because you want to? You helped Skyrim enough, do something for yourself. The Guild works fine, you don't have to be here all the time.__

She took a deep breath. The mead in her blood made her forget her hesitation. "Fine. I'll go", she agreed still not fully convinced but with growing confidence.

"Great!" Vex gave her a slap on the back. "Once you succeeded I'm next in line for Cyrodiil!"

Muriel couldn't suppress a smile at the enthusiasm of her fellow thief and as she met Brynjolf's eyes she saw his contentment.

The Nord raised his mug. "To Bruma then!"

"To Bruma!"

* * *

It took nearly a month of preparations. Muriel gathered as much information as she could find because she wasn't sure how much of it would be available once she crossed the border. It still was awfully little. With the help of Elgrim and his wife Hafjorg she also filled up her stack of potions. To Vex's satisfaction even a large quantity of Invisibility Potions found their way into her repaired and improved backpack. She checked her lockpicks, made sure her well-chosen stock of enchanted jewellery was packed and left Spellbreaker within reach.  
She never needed much while being on the road but this time it was even more important not to clutter her backpack. Since she intended to stay away from Riften for a while – who knew how long it would take – she packed a few extra sets of clothes just in case.

Her leather armour was repaired and her sword sharpened and soon she found herself at the end of her preparations. A restlessness had taken hold over her in the last week but it was different from the one she had suffered before. It was busier, more eager.

On the 27th of Rain's Hand the Thieves Guild decided to throw her a farewell party. It was the evening before Jester's Day and since everyone was expecting pickpockets on that day, none of them was stupid enough to work which made it the perfect date.

And so Muriel was once again at the Ragged Flagon. It was a rare sight seeing the tavern this crowded. The thieves enjoyed their day off and even the shopkeepers had joined in. Wine and mead flowed freely and at some point someone even picked up a lute. Muriel hadn't enjoyed herself this much for months. It didn't help with saying goodbye.

They shared stories of difficult burglaries and laughed about the moments where they had nearly been caught. Delvin even climbed on a chair to bring out a toast full off drama and exaggeration and at one point he got so sentimental that Muriel couldn't stop giggling.

"You're acting like I won't come back", Muriel said as she hugged him.

"Don't you come back empty handed, you get me?", he grunted but Muriel saw the proud gleam in his eyes. "And maybe find yourself a good-lookin' fella along the way, eh?"

Muriel laughed out loud. "You know no one's as good-looking as you."

"Ah, don't you play with an ol' thieves' feelings, girl!", he said with a laugh and grabbed his chest.

From across the room Vex huffed. "That's not where _your_ feelings are, Delvin. Try lower."

With a last round of goodbyes Muriel left the Ragged Flaggon behind. She was in the middle of the graveyard when Brynjolf caught up with her.

"Can I walk the lady home?"

"That would be lovely", she laughed and tucked her arm into his.

"When do you leave?", he asked as they made their way through the sleeping city.

"At dawn." Muriel looked at the cloudless sky. It was still somewhere around midnight but the clear air promised a bright day. She looked forward to it – she hated traveling through rain. Once her clothes were soaked it was nearly impossible to get them dry again while being on the road.

They didn't speak for the rest of the walk and when they reached Honeyside, Muriel let go of his arm and tugged him into a hug.

"Thanks, Bryn." _For letting me do this, for always having my back, for taking care of the Guild, for just being you._ She didn't specify for what but she knew he understood.

"Take care of yourself, lass", he gently said and ruffled her hair affectionately. With a last wink he left, heading for the direction of Haelga's Bunkhouse.

* * *

After a few hours of doze Muriel got up long before dawn. She got dressed and ate some leftover beef stew before double-checking her backpack. But everything seemed to be packed and ready and without a reason to wait any longer, she shouldered her backpack and strapped Spellbreaker on top of it. With Dawnbreaker on her belt she felt ready to head out.

Her eyes wandered across her home. It would be a while until she would see it again. Brynjolf had promised to take care of the place – Muriel secretly assumed he would bring several of his conquests to her place and made a mental note to buy a new bed once she returned.

The streets of Riften were still empty and the guards on patrol simply nodded at her as she left through the southern gate. To get to Pale Pass she had to follow the road to Ivarstead and Helgen. It would take a while but the chill morning air and humming feeling of adventure made her steps lighter. Muriel passed Snow-Shod Farm and with Lake Honrich to her right she made good progress and reached the point were the road passed Largashbur at dawn.

From here on the road led her through a forested area and she knew from experience that it was home of many bears. It was a long time ago since the feral predators had been a thread to her but they could still be a challenge if they charged out of hiding.

Muriel walked further along the cobbled road with all her senses focussed on the forest around her. One time she thought she heard something and crouched. Her eyes searched her surroundings and it didn't take long until she spotted the huge Cave Bear in the distance. Carefully not to arouse his attention she proceeded to sneak but while she was concentrated on the bear, a pack of wolves charged at her.

With a curse on her lips she drew the sword and drove it into the first wolf's neck just as he lowered himself to jump. The body collapse in an instant and Muriel quickly pulled the blade out of the bloody mess to ready herself for the next attack.

It only took a few seconds until all three wolves laid dead at her feet. She wiped her blade clean on one of their furs and sheathed the sword. The packs were an annoyance one could not avoid while traveling Skyrim. They were fast and often hid in the bushes along the way to hunt down unwary travelers.

At least the short fight had the effect of waking her up completely and with a last look at the bear who strolled further away into the forest, she continued her way.

At noon she reached the road sign guiding her to Helgen. Muriel saw Ivarstead in the distance but her path led her to the left and closer to the mountain chain where it would climb first up and then over. At an apparently abandonend shack the young woman decided that it was time for a rest. She knew that resting once she was in the mountains would be difficult. She wanted to pass the harsh climate as fast as possible and only rest when she was on the other side.

On her map it seemed like the road would decline again until it reached Helgen before winding up over the Jerall Mountains and towards Cyrodiil. With the path itself she was unfamiliar for she had always tried to avoid Helgen; the memories where still haunting her but she had heard rumours of bandits inhabiting the ruins now. If she made it past the first mountainous part of her journey until dusk she could spend the night on the other side where she wouldn't have to sleep on snow.

She took some bread out of her backpack and chewed on it without appetite as she sat on the porch of the shack letting the sun warm her face. It was a good feeling to travel to an unknown place again; she didn't remember the last time where she wasn't sure of her destination.

Out of habit she searched the shack for something useful but only found a few coins that wandered into her pocket. She didn't feel guilty about it. Whoever lived here seemed to be gone for quite a while according to the dust collecting on the bed.

Muriel stayed for about an hour before she continued her path. The sun stood high as she walked and she was thankful for it. Walking through the mountains by night was dangerously foolish. Many travellers had fallen to their deaths because of incautious steps on icy stones.

Her will and stamina were soon tested by the steep serpentines leading up the mountainside. To the burning of her muscles came the burning of her lungs as the air grew colder and thinner the higher she got.

It took three hours until the path became less steeply. Despite the deep snow Muriel had to rest before she felt able to continue the hopefully easier path downhill.

The sun already began to set when she finally saw the ground again. Helgen's gate came in sight and the young woman saw the movement of torches. It would be much more difficult to pass the destroyed town in broad daylight and so Muriel decided to rest for a few hours until the night had set in before sneaking past the bandits. Once she was out of sight she would make camp.

She settled in inside a fallen tree trunk that would shelter her from the elements as well as from unwanted views. Her dark armor helped with that as well.

Closing her eyes she listened to the forest around her. She had always liked sleeping in the wilderness. The wind in the trees, the soft noises of the animals surrounding her and the pale light of the stars – it all calmed her mind. She felt safe under the night sky even if she rarely travelled with company and therefore with noone who could keep watch while she slept.  
She napped for about two hours until the sun had completely set. Sneaking through the sparse undergrowth Muriel drew closer to Helgen.

She remembered the day she last saw it. It had burned itself into her mind like Alduin burning the town to ruins. The fight she had stumbled into high up in the mountains, the heavy blow to the head, waking up aboard a cart that carried her to the executioner's axe... and Alduin's roar, she certainly would never forget that. It followed her to her dreams even if he was long gone.

Two bandits stood guard on the town's gate but they were deep in conversation and only half-heartedly paid attention to the road. Their bad work habits were a blessing. It would have been rather difficult to sneak around the turn the path took if someone had watched the night like a hawk.

The vegetation got even more sparse as Muriel scurried past and she didn't dare to take a breath until the gate disappeared behind a stone wall. She didn't avoid the bandits out of fear. Her battle skills were well enough to handle them but she had no reason to seek this fight if there was another way.

To be completely out of reach she walked for another ten minutes before finally setting up her camp. She did not dare to start a fire and so her dinner was again cold. Thankfully Vekel had supplied her well enough and she was in no need to hunt or search for something edible before finally crawling into her bedroll.

* * *

_A/N: Reaching Bruma in the next chapter I think... care to tell me your thoughts?_


	3. Chapter Three

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim (if you don't know their mod, I highly recommend checking it out. Seriously, I nearly wept when I was able to cross the border.) __No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_A/N: I try to add in-game..eh in-mod dialogue as smoothly as I can. I hope it doesn't stand out too much against my own humble attempts. Don't worry, it will probably only appear in the early chapters but I think it's too brilliant to be left out.  
I hope everyone's safe and well - these are weird times so if you can, stay at home. And read some fanfictions._

* * *

Chapter Three

Despite the cold air and waking up several times due to a curious fox or a reckless rabbit, Muriel woke up at dawn feeling rested well enough. The rays of the sun barely reached this side of the mountains and so she awoke with her hair covered in a thin layer of ice. Her bedroll had kept her warm enough not to freeze to death in her sleep but her muscles protested at the first movement.

Half an hour later the stiffness in her body was a thing of the past. After she broke camp, she took the path crawling up the mountains and soon the road was once again hidden under a thick layer of snow.

Pushing forward she didn't even stop to eat at lunchtime but ate the dried meat while she walked on. Despite the urge to reach the border - and with it the highest point of her journey - she took a detour when she neared the mountaintop. Even if it meant a longer stay in the harsh winds, she wanted to check out the entrance to Serpent's Trail on Skyrims side of the border. Brynjolf had marked the position on her map. If she was denied crossing the border this would be her backup plan.

The cave entrance was well hidden in the dark mountain face with some pines masking it even more. It took her a while to find it but she didn't go in. Her plan was to contact the smugglers inhabitating the cave from Cyrodiil's side of the mountains – if she made it over the border the legal way. It was risky to just walk in on a group of criminals hiding in a cave and even more if she just had a theoretical plan like now.

The border gate of Pale Pass couldn't be far now. Muriel followed the snow covered cobblestones further to the east and soon a watchtower appeared to her right. She saw the movement of several Imperial Soldiers in the distance as well as archers who must have spotted her right away.

Hopefully nearing the gate wasn't considered a threat.

She walked up the path to the stony structures eyeing the soldiers warily. The border was well guarded and she would have to withdraw if anything didn't go according to plan. Forcing her way through was out of question.

The first Imperial Sentry she encountered didn't even bother to greet her formally.

"Someone else wanting to get into Cyrodiil? You'd best speak with the Legionnaire. Quickly. But be warned - he's not the most patient man."

_Seems like they get a lot of requests._

She gave him a nod and stepped further up towards the gate. For a moment she wondered if she should have made her rank within the Legion visible in any way. After the Civil War she had been appointed Legate after all – even if she wasn't sure what to do with it. Maybe it would have been an advantage?

Muriel saw the Legionnaire at once. Even without seeing the badge of his rank, he radiated an aura of authority. In full Imperial armor with a prominet metal plume across the top of his helmet, he clearly lived up to his role within the Legion. When she approached he lifted his head.

"This border is a restricted entry zone. State your intentions."

__I just thought you guys would like to chat...__

"I want to cross the border and enter Cyrodiil", Muriel said suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. __Obviously.__

"You and hundreds of others. But I'm not authorized to let just anyone through."

She opened her mouth to answer but he ignored her.

"Border's locked down. That's that. No two ways about it, no arguing about it, either. Those are the rules. You'll either need official papers or some other justification for your passage."

Muriel bit her lip. She had indeed thought about asking General Tullius for an official permission to cross the border. But she assumed he would have set her up with a task as well and she didn't want to run errands for the Legion this time.

No, it was best to draw the hero card here. Even if she usually hated it.

"I am the Dragonborn, and defeated Alduin."

She saw his eyes growing wide. "The Dragonborn of legend! You have the dragon blood coursing through your veins! Who am I to stand in your way? Pass through, mighty Dragonborn! It is an honor."

Muriel tried to look as awe-inspiring as she could, this was going better than expected. He hadn't even asked her for proof. Normally the people around her looked at her and saw just the average young Breton woman. Her looks weren't remarkable, she wasn't one to be remembered for beauty or for flaws. Most of the times people tend to overlook her and sometimes just derided her when she said who she was but apparently this man didn't doubt her words for a second.

"What's with all the border control?", she asked.

"You think I make the decisions? I may be a Legionnaire but I'm just a grunt compared to the powers that be in the capital. Not that it takes a Synod mage to work it out. Skyrim's in the midst of strife, the Empire's still reeling from the war. Doesn't take a genius to realize the Empire wouldn't want any of that chaos spilling over into its heartland."

"But the Civil War is won. Shouldn't that be enough to reopen the border?"

"There are still a lot of rebels in these lands. Their leader is dead, yes, but the land's still unsteady."

That was actually true. Many Stormcloaks had fled to their camps hidden in the mountains of Skyrim and nobody knew what - and even if - they're were planning anything to assemble their forces.

"Alright, I think I'm ready – open the gate", Muriel said with a polite smile.

"Understood! Just hold on one moment." He gestured towards the two guards at the sides of the gate.

"Letting someone as distinguished as you through this gate... makes a change from all the frustrated traders and irate mercenaries", the Legionnaire said thoughtfully as he walked her towards the gate.

Muriel saw the road behind the gate leading downhill and secretly let out a breath. That actually had gone way smoother than she had thought.

"It's been a pleasure. Truly", he said. "Here's hoping you can do Cyrodiil some good."

Muriel shot him a questioning look.

"I'd advise you make your way down to Bruma. I hear they're dealing with a lot of problems down there."

She didn't know what to answer. He still looked at her in awe and it was too awkward to let him know that she wasn't here for Cyrodiil's problems. Instead she turned her gaze upon the view that appeared behind the gate. The mountains blocked the view to the widths of Cyrodiil but she knew it must be there.

The Legionnaire followed her gaze.

"The heartland of Tamriel... she's ailing. Maybe beyond saving." He sounded genuinely concerned. "But I'm sure you'll take a fair crack at it, all the same. Welcome to Cyrodiil."

Behind her back the gate was closed with a creak. There were no Imperial soldiers standing guard on this side but further down the road Muriel saw the structures of an Imperial fort. No one had told her if she had to check in or something and she decided to evade the fort if possible.

She had no intentions of making her visit to Cyrodiil even more official – even though the Legionnaire would probably send word in some way that the Dragonborn had crossed the border.

As she walked past the stronghold an Imperial guard nodded at her in salutation but he didn't bother to stop her path or speak to her. Apparently he trusted the judgement of the soldiers on the other side of the gate enough not to question it.

Muriel was glad to walk downhill again. The climbing of the Jerall Mountains had taken most of her energy. The sun was already high up in the sky and she didn't know exactly how far away Bruma was. As she passed the ruin of a tower she thought about making camp. Who knows how many more opportunties to find shelter from the harsh wind would appear?

Her thoughtful gaze traveled down the road when she furrowed her brows. A building had caught her eye. It was small and with a smoking chimney indicating that it was inhabited.

Her curiosity drew her away from the ruin and she proceeded towards the building. As she got closer she saw the wooden sign and her heart made a little jump. 'Snowstone Rest' it said.

Never would she have expected to stumble over an inn in the middle of nowhere. Even though the house looked old – very old to be precise - it looked well maintained. The prospect of a soft bed and a warm meal quickly settled her decision to stay for the night.

The warmth of a fire greeted the woman as she entered. With a sigh she welcomed it, glad to be out of the icy cold. Small stairs led down to the main area of the inn.

Three people were looking up to her. A Bosmer's bored gaze followed her as she stepped down and crossed the room to the counter. The Nord sitting at the table in the corner lowered his eyes into his mead again when he decided that Muriel didn't mean trouble.

Behind the bar stood an old man who looked at her expectantly.

"I'd like to rent a room. And some food and drink would be welcomed as well."

Muriel laid some coins on the counter.

The old man smiled at her. "Excellent! The room's yours for a day. It's up the stairs, the second one on the right." He gestured to the ceiling. "Maybe you want to refresh? Food will be ready in a few minutes."

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you, good man."

"Erlus Risula is the name."

Muriel nodded in acknowledgement and left to find her room. It was sparsley furnished but cozy and welcoming enough. The bed looked great – especially after spending the previous night on bare stone. Sleeping outside had never been an issue to her but she preferred warmer places than the middle of a mountain chain for that.

She set down her backpack and shield. Running her fingers through her knotted hair she scanned the map on the wall. It showed the province of Cyrodiil and Muriel decided to compare it to the map Brynjolf had given her later that evening. He had admitted that his may not be the most accurate copy.

When she felt groomed enough she trotted back downstairs where Erlus already had set a steaming bowl of stew and a mug of mead on the table in the corner across from the nervous Nord. With a smile she sat down for her dinner and he nervously smiled back.

"Damn it all. Run out of Cyrodiil, all for daring to offend Thorina's band of criminals and cutpurses."

"What's wrong?", she asked while digging her spoon in her meal. He obviously had the need to talk even though she could as well do without a conversation.

"What's wrong? I'm being forced to flee my home, that's what's wrong." He sighed deeply. "All because of those damned Cutters."

"What happened?"

"I... got on their bad side. Angered the wrong people. Fought a little bit too tirelessly when they attacked the wagon I was escorting", he said.

Muriel nodded with her mouth full of stew to let him know she was listening.

"Long story short, I need out of Cyrodiil. They're chasing me as we speak. I just stopped in here to get a bit of Nord fire in my belly for the trip."

"Good luck with crossing the border. They are quite strict at the moment."

He looked embarrassed. "I'm not taking the official road you know..."

"Oh.." She gave him a crooked smile. "I see."

"Actually, I hate to ask this of you, but could you deliver this note to my brother, Hulgard? He runs Northern Arms, the smithy in Bruma."

That shouldn't be a problem since she was heading there anyways. "Sure, I'll deliver it."

The Nord smiled at her and thanked her by showing her a shortcut to Bruma that would make her journey a lot easier.

"Once you get to the city, just find the smithy, Northern Arms. It's on the north side of town. Just tell him the letter's from Avar."

"Don't worry, your letter will find your brother."

"Best of luck, friend. And thank you", he said as he stood up and left the inn.

Muriel finished her meal in silence. It was still early in the evening and so she stayed in the taproom. The Bosmer, Arnoth the Bright-Eyed, who eyed her early turned out to be the bard of the inn and was suprisingly good company. The bored bard liked to discuss rumours and gave Muriel a little overview on the situation in Cyrodiil. In the last years she had been so absorbed in Skyrim and the whole Alduin business that she had never really paid attention to things happening outside. Apparently all of Cyrodiil – all of Tamriel even – was tense and coming right out of the Civil War in Skyrim, she could imagine the situation lively.  
The whole situation after the Great War was a mess that left everyone on the edge. Back in High Rock she hadn't experienced it very much; her village had been small and big changes had reached them delayed and in small drops. And in Skyrim everyone had been busy with their own war; the few Thalmor soldiers barely added to the chaos.

As the evening moved on the innkeeper joined them. Muriel learned that the business in Snowstone Rest was very slow since the closing of the border and that it was even lonelier since Erlus Risula's dog had died. She promised to visit his grave in the morning before she excused herself to get to bed.

With a full stomach and the calming warmth of the fire she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. The sleep didn't last long though and nightmares made her drift in and out of conciousness. It was dawn when she could no longer stand it and got up.

The residents of Snowstone Rest were still asleep when she got downstairs. Two apples wandered into her pockets for breakfast and she left some Septims with a quick note for Erlus on the counter before she left the inn.

The morning air was still chilly but the bright orange rays of the rising sun promised a wonderful day. Just like Erlus had described, she found a small grave behind the inn and left a single mountain flower on it's stone. The gesture seemed small but she knew the innkeeper would appreciate it. After all he had buried the dog and even gave him a proper tombstone.

The road lead her further downhill. While she walked she kept searching for Serpent's Trail other entrance and was stunned that she found it faster than the other one. The cave wasn't concealed very much and everyone could find it with ease. Apparently the knowledge of smugglers and bandits living there was enough to keep people away. Why the Imperial Legion hadn't closed it down she could only wonder. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to take this route to bring the stolen goods to Skyrim after all. This looked just so suspiciously easy.

With a frown the Breton moved on. She had to think about this before she decided.

The road took a turn and the sight of a destroyed cart made her nervously draw her sword. It laid on the side and the poor horse's carcass was seen next to it. This had to be the cart Avar had talked about. With a wary gaze Muriel walked closer.

Loud enthusiastic cries came out of the wood as two bandits charged at her.

Muriel huffed scornfully. These two seemed to think she was an easy target like the poor civilians they had robbed and murdered. As much as she liked to avoid fights that weren't necessary, she didn't like being ambushed either.

She let them get dangerously close before taking a deep breath.

"****TIID KLO!****"

Her shout slowed the time around her, made the bandits movements slow down and she easily ducked under the battle axe aiming at her head. Dawnbreaker sank into the bandits stomach with a slurping sound and was yanked up until a rip stopped the sword.

Muriel pulled it out of the wound and spun around to face the other attacker. The female bandit had her arms raised with sparks at her fingertips charging a lightning spell as Muriel decapitated her.

Time moved back to it's normal pace and the bodies fell to the ground, all life gone from their bones.

__What a mess..__

She grimaced as she carefully stepped over the puddle of blood and intestines covering the road and slowly flowing downhill.

Next to the horse she found the unlucky owners and with them a strongbox in the destroyed cart. It contained a simple amethyst as well as a minor enchanted ring. The loot was small enough to be taken along. Muriel knew she shouldn't load her backpack with useless stuff but she just couldn't resist the sparkle of gems and jewellery. The thief as well as the dragon in her urged her to take the treasures.

She continued her path leaving the remains of the robbery and fight for someone else to clean up. An Imperial patrol would certainly come this way soon.

A bridge leading over a chasm in the mountains brought her towards a huge statue of a senitel. It stood at the edge of the mountainside overlooking the land. It's stone was weathered and one horn of the helmet broken but it looked impressive nevertheless. Behind it the widths of the land streched before her. She saw Bruma not far away and was astonished by the apparent size of the city. She didn't know why she expected it to be much smaller. The walls surrounding the city seemed massive.

For a few minutes she dwelled on the view. In the distance she saw the Imperial City and around it wide forests, grasslands, rivers and hills. A whole land stretched before her, ready to be explored and for the first time she had the certain feeling that this journey had been a good idea afterall. Of course, she couldn't just run off into the unknown of Cyrodiil just because her curiosity got the better of her. She had to get to Bruma and accomplish why she got here in the first place.

Muriel followed the directions Avar had given her and left the main road as a path appeared to her right. He had warned her not to follow it to long because it would lead back up and was apparently inhabited by a horde of orges. Muriel had never seen an orge but she wasn't too keen to find out what hid behind that name. Instead she was suppose to follow another path further down that would lead her directly to Bruma.

If she had stuck to the main road it would have taken her at least twice as long to reach the city and after an exhausting climb-down the path leveled again. Soon it reached another bigger road and Muriel saw the impressive walls of Bruma towering in front of her.

Taking a deep breath she directed her steps towards the city gate.


	4. Chapter Four

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. __No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

* * *

Chapter Four

The first thing she saw were the huge banners hanging down from the walls, gold and silver woven with a prominent emblem of an eagle, waving lazily in the soft winds. Muriel noticed that they easily distracted approaching travelers from the wooden palisade leaning to the city wall to the right. Behind them she saw simple huts; apparently Bruma liked to keep its poor outside the walls. It left a bitter taste in her mouth as she made her way through the opened gate.

A guard greeted her. He as well was dressed in the colours of the city and seemed to wear his uniform with pride.

"Where in the city can a traveler take a rest?", she asked politely.

His judging eyes wandered over her leather armor before answering. Muriel knew she didn't look especially wealthy but her armor was well enough maintained to stand up to his judgement. "You can choose between two inns in Bruma. The Jerall View Inn is well known for its service. Or if your purse and your standarts are lower you can head to The Restful Watchman. But be warned.. it is known for it's shady guests."

Muriel nodded, thanked the guard for the information and was about to continue her way when he spoke again. "Count Carvain requests your attendance at the castle."

"Pardon?"

"You are the Dragonborn, aren't you? The description fits." The guard eyed her again. "I was told to let you know that you are expected at court."

So the Legionnaire at the border had indeed sent word. Hopefully just to the ones he had to and not all over Cyrodiil. It was difficult enough for her to walk through Skyrim sometimes. Her profession wasn't easier either with every guard knowing her face and name.

"Well, if it's the Count's request, you can send word that I'll pay a visit later this day." It was best not to reject the authorities in Bruma right away. Maybe she had wished it differently, but now that the Count knew of her arrival, an official request shouldn't be declined.

But the day was still young and she had a lot of time to get a first impression of Bruma. She decided that to head to the smithy right away and deliver Avar's letter to his brother. It was best to get this of her schedule as soon as possible. The Restful Watchman was definitly something she should check out and hopefully find some useful contacts there. But for her sleeping arrangements she would first take a look at the Jerall View Inn. It wasn't only because she preferred a cleaner and more comfortable enviroment but also for keeping up the appearance of an upright civilian.

She found the Northern Arms excactly where Avar had described and on the outside Muriel saw a blonde Nord shoveling coal into a smelter. He thanked her as she handed the letter over and even paid her some gold for the effort.

Hulgard unfolded the note and gave it a quick read. "I hope that fool knows what he's doing." He sighed. "If you're ever going back to Skyrim, could you keep an eye out for him?"

"Sure, but I won't be going back for a while, I assume. Where would he head to?"

"Whiterun, probably. Our family used to live there before the Civil War started. When everything got a little to tense up there my parents decided to cross over to Cyrodiil. They passed away a few winters ago – divines bless them – but left me the smithy."

"It's good you made it out in time... how's business here in Bruma?", she asked while pocketing her gold.

"Relatively good as of late, I'd say. Hostilities are boiling under the surface here in Cyrodiil, too. Have been for a while", Hugard answered thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"We're not at war right now – officially at least, no one dares make the first move, but everyone's waiting for it with bated breath. That means they're arming themselves in preparation for rainy days to come and that means customers for blacksmiths such as myself. Not to sound like a war profiteer, of course..."

"I've heard that before but I haven't seen anyone more armored than usual", Muriel said with a frown. "Why would people be arming themselves if no one's making a move?"

The huge Nord shrugged. "Sure, they're not walking around in armor with swords in their scabbards all the time but people are keeping a weapon handy a lot more these days." He looked around like he wanted to make sure no one was eavesdroping on them. "Never know when you'll need to defend yourself from a party of Thalmor Justiciars. Err, don't tell Armion I said that..."

"Who's Armion?"

"He's the Thalmor Justiciar stationed in Bruma.."

"Oh yes, that sounds like a conversation I'd love to have...don't worry.", Muriel reassured him.

The few Thalmor she had encountered before, she had carefully avoided if possible – something that wasn't always possible traveling Skyrim. If one was lucky, they simply overlooked the people on the road, if not they stared everybody down, sometimes even attacked while no one was there to witness. Dying on the roads of Skyrim was a common danger after all, the land was too much in an uproar.  
She remembered the Justiciar in Markarth just stopping in his tracks to stare at her whenever she was in Understone Keep, eyeing her every move until she left the palace again.

Hulgard looked at her seriously. "They know a storm is on the horizon and soon enough their – all our – lives are about to become a lot more dangerous. They want to be prepared."

"Can't blame them..."

"Yeah.. me neither", he admitted. "Look, I have to get this smelter going. If you looking for wares, you have to go inside. Eddvia's handling the sales today."

Muriel nodded in understanding and said her goodbyes.

Inside the smithy she found a young Imperial woman who gave Muriel a fair price for the gem and ring she had found earlier. With her purse being a little fuller the Breton left the smithy and with no excact direction to turn to she just took the most obvious way towards the great temple she saw through the other buildings.

Compared to the cities in Skyrim – with Solitude maybe as an exception – Bruma was well organized. But maybe she just felt that way because she had lived in Riften for so long which looked like a shack someone had nailed more rooms to over the years. The houses here were arranged in three nearly symmetrical semicircles around the castle, every space within the protective walls well used without it being too cramped. Muriel found that she rather liked the town at first glance.

After she passed several residential houses and a trader, she came to a crossroad with one path leading to another city gate. To her left the street ran uphill to the next ring of the city and a square in front of the temple she had seen from afar. The impressive tower threw its shadow over the city and she had to tilt her head to see the top against the glistening sun. The temples in Skyrim never had been this imposing.

As she walked up to the square, a small boy approached her waving a paper roll towards her. "Only 10 Septims each copy!"

The young woman politely shook her head and the boy shrugged. Her eyes wandered to the steps of the temple where a man dressed in monk robes seemed to have a discussion with two darkly dressed towering Altmer.

_Thalmor.. great, there they are.._

No luck with avoiding the represantives of the Aldmeri Dominion as it appeared.

"Wait", she called the boy back. She paid him for some newspaper she didn't actually pay attention to and with her eyes on the paper she took a few more steps towards the temple. Curiously she listened to the conversation taking place in front of her.

"...I've told you a thousand times. The Chapel of St. Martin does not violate the terms of The White-Gold Concordat. There is no Thalos worship going on here", the priest said. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest which clearly indicated his aversion towards two man across from him.

"It violates the spirit of The White-Gold Concordat. I must urge you to cease and desist at once." The polite tone of the Thalmor didn't quite hid his displeasure.

"Oh? What is the spirit of The White-Gold Concordat?", the Imperial priest asked with a snappy undertone.

"The spirit of the White-Gold Concordat is that men are not, and can never be, gods. Just as Tiber Septim is not a god, nor is Martin Septim."

_Martin Septim? _Of course Muriel had heard of the man and his heroic sacrifice. Until this moment she hadn't been aware that he actually had temples dedicated to him.

"But what does the Concordat actually say?", the priest insisted and she wanted to cheer him for not backing down.

The Thalmor seemed to suspect the trap but answered anyway. "The Concordat forbids Talos worship."

"No mention of Martin Septim worship, though?" Muriel couldn't suppress a gleeful smile.

" I... no, there isn't", the Altmer grudgingly admitted. "I must consult with my superiors. Perhaps we will have to petition for a slight amendment to some... unfortunately specific wording within the Concordat."

The priest didn't answer and Muriel looked up from her paper. The two men stood facing each other with crossed arms and each of them with an openly hostile look in their eyes.

"We will keep our eyes on your little cult, however", the Thalmor added as the priest turned around to go back to his cathedral.

He stared at the closed temple door for a few moments before taking the steps upstairs. "Since it's morndas, it's time for another warning to all the wonderful citizens of Bruma..", he said more to himself than to his companion. The other Thalmor, who hadn't said a word yet, nodded and followed him to the top of the stairs where he looked menacingly over the square. The distribution of roles and rank was so obvious to Muriel that it made the speaker the Justiciar and therefore that Armion Hulard had mentioned.

"Citizens of Bruma! I stand here to remind you of the White-Gold Concordat! Its decree, particularly the outlaw of Talos worship, is imperative!"

Nobody seemed to pay attention. If he really did this every morndas the locals probably just went about their day as usual. But with nobody paying attention his gaze settled on Muriel who was the only one facing them and listening. The Amulet of Talos she wore under her armor seemed to heat up. Muriel didn't wear it as a sign of her worship – she actually didn't care much about worshipping at all – but for the effect it had on her Thu'um. Right now it felt even more rebellious than usual.

"Talos worship is a crime, and those committing such heresy will be dealt with, swiftly and with great prejudice. Let none say you were not warned!"

She frowned. Hopefully he hadn't much work in Bruma. Ever since she had visited the Thalmor Embassy on Delphine's demand, she had a faint idea of how they dealt with outlaws.

"Obey the White-Gold Concordat and the Thalmor Justiciars, and you will be spared this fate."

Muriel wanted to turn away as he finished but he decided to walk towards her. With a sigh she stuffed the newspaper into her pocket – she couldn't fool anybody by pretending to read now – and looked at the approaching Thalmor with her head held high. As unpleasant as they were, she would neither run from a Thalmor nor back down. However, in her brief conversations with some of them, she had found that the best way to let their mean comments bounce off, was humour and confidence. Maybe they were proud and arrogant, but her dragon soul could be just as prideful if she allowed it.

"And so Skyrim's new favorite folk-hero chooses to grace us with their presence", he said with an arrogant voice. "The Dragonborn, I presume."

"The very same." Muriel made a small mocking curtsy.

"The burdens of fame weighing you down? Well, don't worry. I assure you, you'll receive no special treatment from me."

"I'm flattered that you have heard of me. You're the welcoming committee, is that it?"

"A joker, too. Wonderful – yet another troublemaker for us to keep an eye on, at least if you attempts at sadonicism weren't quite so... posturing." Armion's eyes wandered over her but she couldn't quess his thoughts behind the despite in his words. To be honest, she didn't think there was much else. Most Thalmor didn't try to hide their feelings towards anyone they considered lesser.

Muriel smiled innocently. "I'm just here for sightseeing, thinking about buying property, maybe retiring, you know?" She gestured towards the Cathedral of St. Martin and he followed her gaze. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Cathedral of St. Martin, mh?", she said with a crooked smile.

"What about it?"

"Nothing.. I think it's just brilliant.", she breathed and paused for a moment. "The architecture, of course."

"Of course." He looked at her with wary eyes. "Many before you have thought themselves invincible. Above the Thalmor, above the Dominion, above their precious Empire and its laws, its concordats."

_Somebody really likes his laws here.._ As a thief she admittedly violated some laws quite freely.

"They now find themselves hanging from trees, their decrepit husks wasting away amidst near-endless blizzard", he continued with a threat in his voice. "Enjoy your stay in this fair city."

"I will – especially after this warm welcome."

His face darkened. "I will keep my eyes on you."

"One eye for me, one for the priest – seems like you won't have many eyes left for the people of Bruma", she said, keeping her voice cheerful.

"Be assured that the Aldmeri Dominion sees way more than your Empire assumes." It sounded like a rather empty thread and Muriel raised her eyebrows as he turned around and left. That was definitly someone she would make sure to avoid in the future. Her eyes followed the two Thalmor as the stepped up the stairs to the next level. The silent one followed the justiciar on his step. As harsh as the talker had appeared, the other one really alerted her. He was huge – even for an Altmer – and everything about him screamed bully. His golden eyes had watched her and every citizen that passed them constantly, not even trying to hide the hate in them. She was used to Thalmor looking down at her but his eyes screamed murder. It was mostly likely that only his lower rank and obedience to his superior and the Aldmeri Dominion kept him from going on a rampage among Bruma's citizens. That thought made her hair stand on end.

Muriel let out a sigh; she had to be careful not to get too much of their attention. By now her arrival had attracted more attention than she had intended, but she couldn't change that anymore. Behind the disappearing figures of the Thalmor she saw a sign. 'Jerall View Inn' it said and wanting to get rid of her backpack she decided to get a room there before further exploring the city.  
With a wink at the paper boy who looked at her with big eyes and obviously had heard the exchange between them, Muriel trodded over the square and up the stairs.

When she tried to reach for the door, it nearly collided with her face. An angry man bumped into her as he was about to leave the inn. "I am done with you, Stantus! And I am done with this shoddy excuse for a tavern!" She quickly made way by entering the inn and he strutted away, ranted more and smashed the door as he left but Muriel didn't listen.

An awkward silence spread between her and the man behind the bar, Stantus as it seems.

"I don't think your inn is shoddy", she said quietly to break the silence. "In fact I'd like to rent a room."  
"And you did well to choose the Jerall View Inn, traveler. We are known all over Cyrodiil and beyond for our exceptional standards for customer service. You just missed our bard, but I assure you that we will have a replacement soon."

"I intend to stay in Bruma for a while. Can I pay in advance?"

"Of course. A room costs 10 gold a day and includes complimentary access to the bathhouse. "

"That's sounds wonderful", Muriel said and already imagined herself in hot steaming water. This was something that wasn't common in Skyrim. Most inns she had resided in offered a basin with cold water – hot if paid extra – and if you're lucky it even was inside the inn and not behind a barn in the freezing cold.

The prospect of a bath was so tempting that the plan to visit the other tavern in town was quickly forgotten. The Restful Watchman could wait until tomorrow, it wouldn't run away. Scrubbing away the dirt of the road before she would head to the castle, was a more appealing plan for today and so Muriel dropped of her backpack in the room she had rented and got herself soaked in the roomy bathhouse.

_I need something like this back at Honeyside..._ she thought with a content sigh.


	5. Chapter Five

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. __No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read the story so far! It's wonderful to know that there are people out there who endured my scribbles ;) I'd love to know what you think, though. I noticed that I switch between american and british spelling (I'm not a native speaker so I often just write what's more appealing to my own eyes..), please let me know if that's something that bothers you and I will try and stick to one..._

* * *

Chapter Five

At first glance Castle Bruma wasn't much to look at. Looking at the front facade it seemed like a highly defendable building with stony walls and a stategic designed courtyard but Muriel wasn't as impressed as she had been when she had first laid eyes on Dragonreach for example. That impression changed drastically once the great gate shut behind her. What it lacked on the outside, the entrance hall more than compensated for. It didn't contain much, but apparently the little furnishing was completely intended and emphasized the immense size of the hall. Muriel had to tilt her head back to look at the ceiling; not even the Blue Palace in Solitude could compare to the size of this entrance. If it was build to impress whoever sought audience with the Count, it totally worked.  
Her eyes wandered over the ceiling and down the archways that framed the main corridor leading straight towards the throne room. Someone surely had built Castle Bruma's entrance with the intent to demoralise whoever wanted to voice a complaint because by the time they got to stand before the throne, they had endured the eyes of the Count and his court for a long time while walking down the aisle.

"The entrance hall is no place to hang around, citizen.", an annoyed voice pulled her out of her thoughts. Muriel looked at the man who had approached her. He was dressed in guards armor but his demeanour was of someone higher in rank even though she saw no obvious signs of that – or maybe she just didn't know what to look for. With his hands on his hips, he eyed her suspiciously.

"I..."

"Either state your business to the Count or leave", he interrupted her impatiently.

"I'm sorry, I was told to come here.."

"Oh", he put his hand to his forehead in sudden realisation. "Of course, I have to apologize. My man at the gate told me that you'd come, Dragonborn. Adius Vilius, captain of the guard."

"Muriel Vaultirne", she introduced herself. "I don't mean to be rude, Guard Captain, but you seem to be a bit on edge."

He obviously heard the mild reproach in her voice and sighed deeply. "It's just... I'm tired. I've had four sleepless nights in a row. The Count's talking my ear off about these artifacts, and it's stopping me from tending to more important issues."

Muriel's heart sped up. "What artifacts?"

"I don't suppose you've seen any priceless Akaviri heirlooms gallivanting around Bruma, have you? I turns out Count Carvain isn't too happy that his collection's been stolen."

"Well, I only arrived today...", she said vaguely and tried to keep her expression as neutral as possible. It seemed like someone got here first. That on its own wasn't a problem – the Count should have plenty artifacts left – but it meant that the whole castle was now on the lookout against potential thieves.

"Yes, yes.. of course", Vilius said with a tired voice. "It isn't like we don't know where to look. Just searched the Restful Watchman last week, but Bentior always knows when we're coming and he won't talk to us, of course."

"Yes, I've heard about the more... questionable customers there. Does Bruma have a lot of criminals?" She tried look concerned and hoped that he was fooled by her innocent voice.

"Well, I don't know if I'd go that far. We have it fairly okay compared to some other parts of the province. The problem is that the criminals here aren't driven to it out of desperation, they just want the coin. To get rich. They know how to game the system – the kind that like to hide behind law and policy to wriggle out of justice."

Muriel bit her lower lip – now she _was_ concerned. The captain knew his city and his suspects well and apparently she fitted right in. She had to be careful not to raise his suspicion at any point. But he had given her one more reason to pay the Restful Watchman a visit as soon as possible. That Bentior seemed to be a man she had to talk to in order to be successful in Bruma.

"But.. don't be bothered by the guard's businesses. If you ever catch wind of anything untoward whatsoever going on in Bruma, tell it to me or my men."

"I will." Muriel tried a reassuring smile when the entrance door was slammed open and the two Thalmor entered. "And that's my cue to leave."

"Guard Captain, a moment. I need to speak with you", she heard Armion's arrogant tone as she hurried further down the hall and towards the throne room. Behind her Vilius sighed annoyed, but she didn't hear his answer anymore. Several pairs of eyes settled on her as she entered the audience room. In the corner of her eye she saw several display cases around the room and was tempted to examine them right away. But that had to wait; for now she had to deal with the man sitting on the wooden throne in front of her.

"Count Carvain", Muriel adressed him with a short bow.

"Miss Vaultirne", he greeted back and laughed at her surprised look. "We might be separated from Skyrim by a border, but Bruma has of course heard of you and your accomplishments."

"I did not expect that. You honor me, Count."

"Welcome to our fair city. What brings you to Bruma?"

"The call of something new, I would say. I explored most of Skyrim and it truly kept me busy for a long time, but I've never been long enough to Cyrodiil to get to know the land."

"Then Bruma is honored to be your first destination. She's the jewel of the Jerall Mountains. A strong and hardy city: Imperial in name, but equally Nordic by blood. And while the county surrounding her is frosty, as viscount Carvain says, the hearts of our people burn brighter than the warmest hearth. I'd offer you one of our guest rooms but I'm afraid they're.. occupied." Muriel saw his eyes flicker to the side where the Thalmor approached. Armion and his subordinate passed through the throne room and left it through the passageway on the right.

"That's alright, Count. I've already booked a room at the Jerall View Inn."

Count Carvain looked relieved. "That's good to hear. You're staying for dinner, of course."

"Oh, I.." Getting too involved with the court wasn't her first choice, but Muriel couldn't think of a reason to deny him.

"I insist, we don't often get such colourful guest as yourself."

* * *

Dinner with nobles was something she would never get used to. At least most of the Jarls in Skyrim had their whole families with them and especially the children always lightened the atmosphere but Muriel would choose a noisy tavern or a lone campfire over this at any time. Here, however, she had to deal with the Count and his brother, a handful of nobles and residents of the Castle and two Thalmor agents. It was one of the strangest gatherings of individuals she had ever seen – and she had at one point of her life found herself at a table inside the mind of a mad deceased emperor. The nobles were more than delighted to ask Muriel about her years in Skyrim and while the Thalmor kept their silence, she was sure they listened closely. Her audience made it difficult to tell stories, for she had to avoid many topics – thievery wasn't something these people would find entertaining – and tried to focus on fights and dragons. That was what most people wanted to hear about anyway.

"So you actually slew a dragon? All by youself?", asked the Imperial woman whose name Muriel had forgotten right after being introduced.

"Didn't you listen to her? She just said that. And it wasn't just one", a Nord noble woman answered in her stead. Sinja Strong-Mind was her name, Muriel remembered. The Imperial looked offended but didn't answer.

"Did you fight the one up in the Jeralls?", the Viscount, whose resemblance to his brother the Count was uncanny. "We could see the beast flying over the mountains a few times."

"I..yes, I did. Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath had sent me out on that one.. I remember that fight well, the Jerall Mountains are a rough terrain."

"Then we owe you our thanks. More than once I feared that it'd come down on this side of the mountains."

"But what was it doing up there?", the Imperial asked again sceptically. "I mean, it's not excactly cozy up there, isn't it?"

Muriel smiled half-heartedly at the attempted joke. "Dragons don't need cozy. They don't care about the snow either, they just... like mountains." The thought broadened her smile. Paarthurnax had said that once. "Besides, he did have a purpose there: he was guarding a Word Wall."

""What's a... Word Wall?", Count Carvil asked with the curiousity of a man whose passion was ancient artifacts and their collecting.

"I'm afraid it's too big to fit into your display cases, Count...", she said with a chuckle and some nobles joined in. "A Word Wall is.. well, it's excactly what the name suggests. It's a big stony wall with a set of words in the language of the dragons. They guard it because.. how do I explain this the best..? They guard it because the walls contain words of power that help to learn a shout."

"So, anyone could learn it?" The black haired Imperial looked already bored.

"Well, no.. I mean yes, theoretically, but not from a Word Wall. I've been told it takes years to learn a shout if someone's not a dragon." Muriel stopped when she saw the confused faces around her. "It's difficult to explain... "

"Seems like this alone could fill a few evenings", the Count helped out when he saw her struggle. "And I surely will ask about it again another time. But for now, be assured that everyone in Bruma is thankful that you slew that dragon up there."

"But does that mean you're a Blade?", the Imperial asked. The sudden silence in the room made her look around confused as even the scratching of cutlery stopped. Muriel felt her heart drop and quick glance to her side confirmed that the conversation now had the full attention of the Thalmor.

"I mean, you've said that the Blades were once dragon hunters, right? Count Carvain? When you told me about the armor in the display?", the woman continued a little bit intimitated by the reaction at the table. Muriel wished she would just stop talking before she made it worse; this wasn't a topic anyone should discuss in company like this.

The Count cleared his throat. He, too, looked like he didn't want the conversation going that way. "Yes, they were indeed. But as we all know, the Blades were disbanded and are.. well.. not around anymore."

_That's one way to say it._

Muriel knew what he was hinting at. Delphine had told her about how the Thalmor had decimated her order when the White-Gold Concordat had been signed and basically given them a free pass to hunt down every member of the Blades.

"I can assure you, I am not a Blade. What kind of an order would that be anyway, with only one person?", Muriel said as an attempt to ease up the conversation. She could almost feel the piercing eyes beside her. "But I would love to see said armor, Count. And hear its story."

To her right the Thalmor Adjutant made a sound somewhere between a snort and a short laugh that brought the attention of the table to him.

"Excuse me? I don't think I caught your name...?", Muriel asked, her hand tightening around the fork.

"My name is of no interest to you, Dragonborn", the Altmer snapped back. She opened her mouth to give an appropriate answer when Armion interrupted.

"I think", he said with a sideglance to his associate. "He merely tried to express his doubts about the fact that the Dragonborn doesn't know what a Blades armor looks like."

"I never said I don't know what it looks like in theory."

"You should develop an interest in topics less controversial. It would be a shame if one day you'd be considered a traitor by the Empire, wouldn't it?"

"I don't think this will happen because I looked at an armor. I assume you've seen more than me?" She held his gaze stubbornly until he leaned back and crossed his arms with a sardonic smile. "I have, but they weren't as well preserved as the one in Count Carvain's collection. So be sure to take a good look, it's a relic of bygone times."

"As are most of the artifacts", the Count quickly intervened when he noticed Muriel going paler. "We will definitely do a tour one day, Miss Vaultirne, if you're interested in the history lesson."

With great effort she tore her eyes from the Thalmor's smiling face and put down the fork. Her appetite was gone.

"I'm always grateful for such an opportunity." _And it saves me weeks of research. _"But I'm afraid I have to leave now. Count Carvain, I thank you for your hospitality, it's been a pleasure." Hopefully this wouldn't be interpreted as running but she couldn't stand the atmosphere in the room for a second longer. If anyone would ask, she would blame it on the long and tiring journey. But no one asked and so Muriel got up, excused herself once more and left the table behind. She felt the eyes of the others follow her out of the dinning area and even when the thick stone walls shielded her from the views, she still felt them until she left the castle.

The cold air outside eased her nerves, but she was still wide awake. There was no point in returning to the Jerall View Inn yet and this time was as good as any to pay the other establishment of interest a visit.  
Only a few people were still on the streets; most of Bruma's citizens were either at home or in their preferred inn after the duties of the day were done. A few guards with torches patrolled the streets, but she didn't want to ask them for directions. Putting on the dark leather hood, Muriel left the lit main roads and became one with the shadows of the alleys between the houses.


	6. Chapter Six

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_A/N: I've been writing so much for this story in the last weeks.. just not in the right order.. :D some scenes are just have to be vomitted out before I can continue.._

_Thank you for my first review, dear anonymous guest. Though I'm not quite sure what you want to tell me.. I'm sure the Thieves Guild has to be around somewhere, but if you have any information about what they've been up to in the 200 years since Oblivion, please send me a message. I would love to read your sources and see if it's in any way relevant for my story :)_

* * *

Chapter Six

Sticking to the shadows of the houses of Bruma's more wealthy residents, Muriel let her senses guide her through the night. The Restful Watchman shouldn't be hard to find, all she had to do was to follow one of the two main sources of noise in the night. The guards didn't patrol the smaller alleys and so she remained unseen. The last house in the row was near the edge to the lower level and Muriel carefully lowered her body over the wall and dropped behind the stalls of the market place. Half-tempted to fill her pockets with the goods the merchants had just left on display – what a careless thing to do – she forced herself to walk on. She didn't need any of it and had neither a place to store it nor to sell it, it would be foolish to alarm the town when were bigger treausures to have.

A single guard came around the cathedral. His torch lit up the market place and Muriel hid behind the corner of a house. Sneaking around and avoiding the guards was more practice and habit than an actual necessity. She wasn't doing anything illegal by wandering around at night, but something told her that ever since she had first stepped through Bruma's gate, many eyes where following her every move. The gap between being the Dragonborn and being a member of the Thieves Guild was sometimes so large, she wasn't sure if she could manage the balancing act forever. Maybe one of them had to go one day.

But that day wasn't anywhere near and for now she just tried not to let her two lives mix up too much. That often required a higher amount of sneaking that most thieves had to deal with. She had to be careful not to be connected to any shady business at all if possible. There was still the possibility that one or two of the customers at the Restful Watchman would recognize her, but these people weren't the ones she was worried about. None of them should be in contact with the Count and most of them probably hadn't the best relationship with the guards either. If Muriel would actually steal something from the Castle, they wouldn't make the connection. Or at least she hoped so.

The guard left the market place to continue his round through Bruma and Muriel scurried further along. She spotted the inn easily; the warm noises of laughing people and clinking mugs, though muffled, could be heard through the door. Once inside, the contrast between the two inns was immediately obvious. The interior was simple, but practical and had seen better days for sure. The clientele varied from the poorer people of Bruma over merchants to shady characters that sat in the dark corners with their hoods covering most of their faces. Muriel felt at home right away. Shoving aside any thoughts of the Ragged Flaggon that would only make her miss that sewer of a tavern, she stepped forward to the bar.

The man behind had stopped cleaning his mugs when she had entered and hadn't taken his eyes off her after that, even if he now again was wiping a mug with a stained towel. Strangers didn't seem to come here very often. Muriel left her hood where it was and took one of the free seats at the bar.

"What can I get you?"

"Just ale", Muriel answered and watched the man, who she assumed had to be Bentior, as he got her the drink. He had watchful eyes that constantly checked the inn in case anyone decided to cause trouble but was calm enough to tell her that he didn't need to intervene very often. She hadn't decided on how she wanted to bring up why she was here, when he preempted her.

"Can't say I have many illustrious people at my bar. At least not the kind that dines with the Count before coming here."

Muriel sighed and gave him a crooked smile. "You're well informed. I'm Muriel."

"I have to, haven't I? I also know that you're not here to rent a room, Muriel – or do you prefer Dragonborn? So what do you want?"

"Actually I - "

"Excuse me", he interrupted her, his eyes focused on something behind her back. "Galarynn, if you puke, I'll make you clean it up! No, put my bucket back down! Someone get that woman outside. Now, gods dammit!"

Muriel watched over her shoulder how the dark haired woman was escorted to the door and then – with a gentle push – shoved out. The door closed just in time as the sound of retching started.

"You were saying?", Bentior said as if they hadn't been interrupted. Muriel sipped on her ale.

"I'm looking for information. Know anything about Akaviri artifacts?" It was best to be honest if she wanted the innkeeper on her side. His expression became wary.

"Did the captain talk you into this? If so, I have the same answers I gave him. There's nothing illegal going on here, he has to know, he just searched us. This is a fine establishment. "

"I'm sure it is. And the answers no, he didn't send me. But I do have a...eh.. kind of professional interest."

Muriel scratched over the counter and raised her eyebrows as she saw the dirt under her fingernail. With a sullen look, Bentior stepped right in front of her and leaned over the counter so that the other guests couldn't hear him.

"The answer's still the same. You shouldn't poke your nose further than it's wanted."

"Looks like I'm wasting my time then", Muriel said and reached for her pocket to leave a stack of gold on the counter between them. She knew it was way to much for her drink and she saw in the way he looked her up and down that he knew that, too. Finishing her bottle, she stood up. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bentior pocketing the coins.

"How's Delvin doing?", he asked casually and Muriel nearly spit out the rest of her ale. She stared at him in suprise. With a mischievous glimmer in his eye, Bentior leaned over the counter again. "The count and his guards may be blind, but for my part, I do recognise Thieves Guild armor when I see it."

He had caught her off guard and she needed a moment to find her voice again. "You know Delvin?"

"I know a lot of people. Haven't seen him in years, though. So how is he?"

"He's drinking himself to an early grave like the rest of us. That or Vex cuts his throat if she catches him watching her taking a bath again – whatever happens first."

"Yes, that sounds just like him... old crook", Bentior said with a chuckle. "Mercer's still in charge?"

"Actually, no", Muriel answered quietly.

"What happened?"

Muriel stepped closer to the bar. She didn't want to relive the whole affair of Mercer betraying the guild, maybe someday she might tell him the story. "Long story short, he harmed us and I had to kill him."

Bentior straightened himself and watched her for a long moment. "Alright, I can recognize the moment when questions are unwanted...I assume he had it coming, he always was a mean bastard", he finally said and shrugged.

"You should write Delvin someday, I'm sure he would love to hear from you." Leaning over the counter, she quietly added, "Speaking of letters.. I may need to send one myself one day. Any idea how to get it across the border?"

"Apart from through the gate?", he said and looked at her in thought. "I have to ask around."

"I would appreciate it, thanks."

"Crouches-In-Crevices is the one you want to talk about the other thing." He nodded towards a hooded Argonian sitting in one of the dark corners. No one joined him at his table, it was like the other guests even avoided looking at him but he didn't seem to mind. Muriel made her way through the room, navigating around drunks and laughing groups of people before she finally stood before the Argonian.

"Bentior sent you over, didn't he? If he thinks your fit to do business with, I won't question his judgement. Take a seat, Dragonborn."

_Why does everyone know who I am? I only arrived today._

Muriel let herself sink to the chair across from him. This was getting annoying.

"Word travels fast in Bruma, most citizens here have nothing better to do. And the guards are the worst; what a bunch of gossiping fools..", Crouches-In-Crevices guessed her thoughts and leaned back until his face was mostly hidden in the shadows and clicked his tongue. "Makes my life easier, though. If you're ever find yourself in need for a merchant who doesn't ask questions, come see me."

"Questions?" Muriel rested her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward. The Argonian shot her an amused look. At least she assumed it was amused, reading the facial expressions of his people wasn't always easy.

"Yes, like 'where does that priceless necklace come from?' or 'why is there blood all over it?'"

Muriel laughed and a few heads turned their way, as if people were surprised that there was someone in an empty corner. She quickly ceased her laughter and waited until everyone ignored them again. Crouches-In-Crevices watched the inn from under his hood. The little she saw of his green scales was shining with the light of the torches. He clicked his tongue again and shifted his attention back to her.

"I on the other hand have questions", Muriel started. "About the Count's collection."

"Oh that's interesting..." The fence watched her curiously. "You are not the first to talk about that, you know? Atienne Guilette went on about it for weeks. Not that you have that name from me, of course.."

Muriel waved her hand impatiently. "I don't care about Atienne Guilette. But you must have heard that he stole something from the castle. Did he sell it to you?"

"No..", he said slowly. "I pointed him to my contacts at Capstone Cave... but I assume that didn't go so well..."

"Oh? What makes you think that?"

"You see, the thing with Akaviri artifacts that – while there are very valuable – you won't really find a buyer for them... one has to be a really passionate collector to pay the estimated price. Dar'zorben – he's my contact – knows that, he would be stupid to buy."

Muriel stared at him. This wasn't the answer she had hoped to get. Coming here this evening, she hadn't expected her hopes to be crushed this easily. After the Captain of the Guard had told her that another thief had beat her to stealing the artifacts, the confidence in her plan had been weakened but this... never had she thought of this. Brynjolf had been so sure.

"If I read your face right – and I apologize if I don't, you soft-skins are difficult to read – you are disappointed?" Crouches-In-Crevices crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"I.. yes, I am. This is disappointment", Muriel said and pointed at her face. She took a deep breath and let the air slowly out through her mouth. "So... I assume there aren't many collectors around."

"Why steal the artifacts in the first place? Surely you don't need the money, do you? Are heros paid that badly nowadays?" The amused glimmer was back in his eyes.

Muriel huffed. "My.. friends.. called it a challenge... but what am I suppose to do with something I can't sell? Hang it on my wall?" Honeyside was already cluttered with things she couldn't or wouldn't sell but at least most of them had an actual use – at one point at least. Having an item lying around that could connect her to a crime while being basically worthless...

"Start your own collection?", the Argonian suggested and tilted his head. Muriel was sure he was laughing at her.

"Very funny", she answered with a sour look.

The Argonian chuckled which sounded like he was gargling sand. "I'm sorry. But if it's a challenge you're after..." He paused and looked around but the people around them still paid them no mind. "Count Carvain does have a treasury, you know..", he finished with a meaningful look.

Again Muriel stared at him. What he suggested wasn't far-fetched to be honest. A heavily guarded treasury was definitely a challenge – but where the gold and gemstones worth the effort? There were easier ways to get those and she had no way of proving where she got them. Wasn't this all about proving whether or not she was capable of pulling off the job? She chewed on her lower lip in thought. Brynjolf and the other back in Riften still expected her to bring some ancient artifact home, Tonilia was probably already working on finding buyers. Could she just ignore that? Would the guild be mad if she just changed plans? Probably not mad, but she definitely had to inform them and that could only be done if Bentior found a way of getting her letter across the border. Of course, she could always go back to Riften herself, but it would be suspicious if she made the trip too often in such a short time...

"Tell me everything you know", she said finally.

* * *

It was late at night when Muriel returned to the Jerall View Inn and Stantus was about to show the last customers to the door. When Muriel walked by, wishing a good night on her way, he threw her a strange look. She didn't think much about it, he probably was just a little offended that she had chosen to spend her evening anywhere but in his fine house.

The staircase led her downstairs into the basement where the guest rooms were located. One day she would love to find an inn with naturally lit rooms, she couldn't stand the constant fumes of torches and fireplaces. But keeping such an inn running this high up in the north was probably unaffordable, maybe somewhere further south?

Getting ready for bed she recapitulated the evening in her head. She and Crouches-In-Crevices had talked for a long time, mostly trying to keep their voices down so no one could eavesdrop. According to the argonian fence the Count's treasury had been a target of many thieves, but as far as he knew no one had successfully robbed it to the day. This also meant that no one really knew what it held. There were rumours of unique enchanted weapons and pieces of armor of great value – not to mention the numerous gems and _mountains of gold_ (which was probably one of those exaggerations that tend to grow between thieves telling stories of treausures). Nevertheless, the rumours had to have some truth to them and it was probably worth the look. Maybe Muriel could get the Count himself to give away some details if she played her cards right. That, of course, had to be done with great care; if she'd asked too much and something got missing shortly after, even the nobility would make the connection.

All in all she had to plan her actions carefully, but there was no need to rush anyway. This wasn't a job someone was paying her to do, this was something she did because she wanted to and Muriel had some difficulties getting used to the thought.

Bentior didn't reach out to her for a whole week. It was a week Muriel spent with another thing she wasn't used to: having spare time. Spending her days with walking around town or talking to the people simply because she could and not because it helped her achieve a goal, was strange and relaxing at the same time. Sure, she had done this before but there had always been some duty at the back of her mind.

This week she was free to look at the wares on the market stalls (_who wants to buy ancient nordic artifacts?!_) as long as she wanted or spend hours at the smithy enjoying tea with Eddvia, who turned out to be a chatty but pleasant company. It was strange to chat about many of the unimportant things some women – and men – liked to talk about, but enjoyable nonetheless. The Ímperial was an unlimited source of gossip and everything that was going on in the city and soon enough Muriel found herself knowing things about some of the people passing her by on the roads that she had preferred not to know. Additional to all the things those people told her anyway.

Muriel even found the time to visit the museum that one Nord ran. It had sounded interesting on the pamphlet – 'The Hall of the Champion' was it called – and turned out to be a complete waste of money and time. It was a relief when the paper boy Leo found her to deliver a note from Bentior that said that she should visit the Restful Watchman tomorrow. Planing on visiting the Northern Arms again, Muriel made her way over to the other side of the city.

* * *

_A/N: Tell me your thoughts?_


	7. Chapter Seven

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_A/N: I feel like the story is finally getting where I want it to go... I'm sorry that it took seven chapters (I still feel like I'm rushing). I salute you if you made it this far!  
Oh and I edited a minor detail in the second chapter - nothing important, I just decided that I don't want Muriel to know anything about the Forgotten Vale.._

* * *

Chapter Seven

"3_000 gold?!_"

"Keep your voice down, will you?", the bartender grumbled lowly. Like it mattered, the only other customers were the Argonian and some Orc who downed one bottle of mead after another.

"Is he crazy?!", Muriel asked with an outraged voice and didn't even try to keep it down.

"I... uh.. might have said that it was urgent?"

She couldn't believe this. The money wasn't the problem, it was the ridiculous high price for delivering a letter to Riften. That was a total rip-off!

"For 3000 septims I could buy myself a horse, ride all the way back to Riften, buy myself _another_ horse because I don't like the colour of the first one and return to Bruma!"

"Look, Mirich is a man of business. He said that he had to calculate with the money he would make in the same time.."

Muriel snorted. "Like he smuggled that many people over the border in – how long does it take to get to Riften and back? - one week? Are you sure you didn't add some for yourself?"

Bentior shrugged way too casually and returned to cleaning the mugs. "3000 – take it or leave it."

"Oh, you did, didn't you?" Muriel laughed.

"Times are tough, I'm just taking advantage of every opportunity", he admitted. She wasn't even angry. To steal each other blind somehow was normal in this scene – that's why she was glad to be part of the guild. They at least had rules against it (not that it didn't happen anyway).

"Then what's Mirich's real offer?"

"2500."

"That's still not worth considering." Muriel crossed her arms and looked around the inn. "You have something to add?", she called across the room where Crouches-In-Crevices looked away just a second too late. He had obviously heard their conversation. With a sigh the Argonian got up and joined them at the bar.

"Nothing to add, but some questions", he said softly. "For example - why don't you just pay the price? You surely have the gold for it..."

"And that's why I have to pay ten times more than everyone else?", Muriel said darkly. "Besides, do I look like a traveled here with a chest of gold on my back?"

The Argonian chuckled and took a seat on the other barstool. "Have you thought about.. you know.. sending it with a normal courier?"

"I don't think they let any other than the Legion's courier-"

Bentior leaned over the counter with soapy water dripping down from the mug in his hand and interrupted her. "You know, that actually could work. I had some thought about it, since my guts told me that you would reject the smuggler's offer. They let you cross the border, so why not an innocent 'I arrived safely' message?"

Muriel looked confused from him to the Argonian and back. "Except that I don't want to send such a message?"

"Ah girl, show a little creativity", Bentior brushed her argument off. "Seriously, what are they teaching you over in Skyrim? I'm sure you can make it sound all nice and harmless. Hide in plain sight, make it as official as you can get... by the gods, ask the Count for permission while you're at it. Just keep in mind that it will probably be read by others than the recipient."

"Like who?"

"Well, the border guards of course or at least their captain. They control everything that goes through the gate – wares, people, letters.." _They didn't exactly control me, though..._ "..and I assume the Thalmor will read it as well."

She agreed, that Justiciar had known of her arrival before she first set foot in Bruma. He probably got informed about everything out of the ordinary, maybe even the common deliveries that crossed the border. Wouldn't be surprising, he struck her as someone who liked to keep tabs of everything. Her message to Brynjolf had to be so boring and harmless that everyone would forget it as once. Well, of course except Brynjolf himself. For him it had to be clear enough that he wouldn't just throw her letter into Riften's sewers. A sudden idea bloomed in her head – and one that would most definitely humiliate her in front of the entire guild for all eternity. Muriel grimaced and the two men looked at her curiously.

"I know how to do it. But I'll need help. And drinks, definitely drinks."

* * *

It was already noon when Muriel left the Jerall View Inn. It had gotten late the night before, Crouches-In-Crevices and she had worked on the letter for a long time and even though the Argonian was surprisingly good at finding the words, Muriel had ordered another drink everytime his suggestions made her cringe. By the end she was completely drunk, but ultimately the letter was finished and she was actually pleased by the result. Now all she had to do was get Count Carvain to open the border for a courier that would bring her letter all the way to Riften.

_Shouldn't be too difficult, right? He seemed to enjoy surrounding himself with nobility and people of influence, like most of his status...He wouldn't want you to leave his city._

Deep in thought she turned around the corner of the Synod Conclave when sudden hoofbeats let her look up to the city gate. A pearly-white horse trotted through, its rider's armor gleaming in the midday sun and Muriel had to put her hand on her forehead to shield her eyes against the glow. It was an Altmer as far as she could tell, fully dressed in elven armor and with the typical arrogant eyes looking judgingly from under his helmet. Behind him were several guards trying to keep up with the horse, shouting something about not to ride inside the city while being gracefully ignored by the elf.

Muriel's eyes followed the strange parade all the way up to the castle until they were out of view and slowly followed after them. Gladly she had just the excuse to head towards the castle as well. When she arrived in the inner courtyard, the rider had dismounted his horse and – completely ignoring the bulk of guards around him – handed the Justiciar in front of him a sealed roll of paper. The latter looked annoyed by the attention and with a nod, led the other Altmer towards the castle.

"What's going on? That looked important", Muriel asked one of the guards trying to get the horse's reins. She had never heard a horse hiss, but if this one could, it totally would. It snapped at whoever came too close, pawed nervously and threw its head back to shake its long mane. The guards quickly gave up and settled for surrounding it to prevent it from running away. Not that it looked like the loyal animal would leave without its master.

"Nothing out of the usual, Dragonborn. Just Armion getting a letter", the guard answered and dapped his forehead with his sleeve.

"You mean.. that was a Thalmor courier?" She had never seen one of those in Skyrim.

"Did you think the Thalmor trust any Nord or Imperial courier with their important messages? No, they like to keep everything among themselves, don't they?", he said. "I just wish he would leave that damn horse at the stables... bit two of us the last time."

_And probably enjoyed it..._

Muriel left the men to their ungrateful task and, keeping her distance to the animal, entered the castle. She found Count Carvain where she had expected him - on his throne. He listened to her request silently until she had finished.

"Well.. I don't know if we can make an exception..." He exchanged a look with his steward. "The borders are closed by wish of the Emperor himself..."

"But...", Muriel started with an attempt at making her voice sound innocent. "They let _me_ through the gate, didn't they? All I'm asking for is a single note to let my loved ones know I'm safe..."

The steward cleared his throat. "Your Excellency, we know who really wished to lock down Skyrim, don't we? And if the Dragonborn was allowed to pass, I see no harm in letting one courier through."

Muriel wasn't sure what he meant by that, but thankfully accepted his support. If it helped getting that message to Riften, she would even try to press out a tear. Count Carvain still didn't look convinced.

"It's nothing harmful, I promise. I... I have the message here, if you want to read it.." She lowered her eyes and hoped that her blushing would be interpreted as shyness and not her being an awful liar. On more than one occasion, Vex had made fun of the fact that Muriel wouldn't be able to talk her way out of an arrest. "_The trick is not getting arrested, you should try that_", she had answered to which the Imperial had silently sulked.

"Oh!" The Count's eyes grew wide. "Oh, no! We can't offend your honor like that... but I assume the Legionnaire at the border will read it", he said with an apologizing voice.

_Ha!_

With doe eyes she looked back up and mumbled, "That's okay, I guess... I'll.. keep it unsealed."

It would be a shame if she had tried to destroy her organs while writing this for nothing. Trying to keep her smile down to a thankful one, she bowed.

"I will assign one of my own trusted couriers with the task. I will send him to you this afternoon." Count Carvain bended his head slightly and Muriel knew she was dismissed.

* * *

Armion pressed two fingers into the inner corners of his eyes until small flashes appeared behind his lids. It didn't take the headache away that bothered him for week now. Even the silence in his quarters seemed too loud to bear and the flickering candle wasn't helping either. Maybe he should get a potion for his condition, but the only alchemist in this gods-awful city was that Bosmer with her humanitrian working moral. "_I don't sell poisons._" A real alchemist would appreciate every effect of their mixtures. Maybe she couldn't even mix a simple poison, why should he trust her with his health?

On the table in front of him was the roll of paper that was the source of his headache. The Thalmor messenger had even stayed long enough to ensure that he had read it and demanded that he wrote an immediate answer. Armion's jaw clenched. Like he had any choice but to write an agreeing letter. With a sigh he put the paper back into his overcoat and pulled the gloves from his hands.

And then there was this other letter that hadn't helped either. With the certainty that he was missing something important, Armion had let the courier move on. It was frustrating, but maybe he had underestimated the task. A little investigating, asking the right people the right questions – he had thought that it wouldn't take much more. But his investigations came to nothing and he knew that his questions had to be more comprehensive. He had to rely on his ability to detect important information beneath whatever people thought he wanted to hear. Yes, he would start to ask around tomorrow, someone had to have information that he could use.

Heaving his tired body up from the stair, he found that at least having some sort of a plan, eased his headache a little bit. Not enough to relieve him, but enough to allow him to find some rest tonight. He hung his overcoat over the back of the chair and got rid of his boots. The room in the castle's guest wing was always cold, nothing like he would like it to be, but at least it wasn't moldy. He had heard of worse accommodations of Thalmor Justiciars. Most of the time men were too afraid to show their reluctance by knowingly assign a Justiciar to an inappropriate quarter, but apparently it still happened. Not that it mattered, compared to his homeland, every accommodation was unworthy.

Settling on his bed, he thought about where to start tomorrow. The smithy was definitely a place he had to visit, as well as the upper-class inn. And asking around the market was probably a good idea, too. Most of Bruma's citizens had an opinion on everything – they wouldn't tell him, but he was used to gather information from scraps.

But he would start at the stables. Armion highly doubted that the woman there would be helpful, but it was something he had to get off his list.

* * *

Muriel loved apple pie. It was something about the mushy sweetness mixed with sour fruit that made her heart rejoice. She didn't know what the difference between any pie she had eaten before and the ones Stantus sold at his inn was, but he had advertised it so confidently, she had to buy a piece. Apparently the apples made all the difference, so the piece of pie she was eating now was an Applewatch pie – and it tasted exactly the same. That wasn't a bad thing, this way at least she wasn't disappointed.

Happily munching her pie, she walked down the street. It was a beautiful sunny day and the successful sending of her letter five days ago had also lifted her mood. Second Seed was halfway over and had finally driven away most of the harsh coldness of the winter. Of course, the Jerall mountains still experienced wind and snow, but the amount of sunny days was increasing.

Muriel passed the Fighters Guild and was about to take another bite from her pie when a hand grabbed her elbow and dragged her sideways into one of the little alleys. A mournful groan escaped her as the apple pie dropped from her hand and onto the road.

"What did you do?", a sharp voice at her shoulder whispered. Muriel turned around and found Eddvia staring at her in the dim light between the houses.

"Stantus said this pie was better than anything I ever tasted, so I thought I..."

The Imperial looked confused for a moment. "No, I mean, what did you do to get the Thalmor ask questions about you?"

"What do you mean by that... they ask questions about me?" Muriel lowered her voice, too. The loss of her pie was suddenly forgotten.

"Yes, they came by the smithy yesterday... all sorts of questions, they didn't ask me, though. But I heard them talk to Hulgard... about minor things mainly, like what you bought and sold and what he thinks of you... and Ila said they asked her, too!"

"Did they, really?", Muriel asked uncomfortably.

"_Yes._ So, what did you do?!" Eddvia watched her with worry in her eyes. A warmth flooded through Muriel's stomach as she saw it. Despite the short time of her staying in Bruma, the Imperial woman already had become something like a friend. As close as a friend can be after a few weeks anyway. Eddvia seemed to enjoy having a woman of roughly her age around and the need she had to talk with someone was certain. It didn't take long until she had opened up to Muriel and trusted her with topics she couldn't discuss with anyone else – especially not her family. Like the fact that they wanted her to marry someone in the Imperial City. Which was admittedly a problem that could let a girl's heart sink, if said girl liked her employer far more than she probably should.

"I didn't do anything. I think", Muriel answered with furrowed brows. Where did the sudden interest of the Justiciar and his Adjutant come from? The last weeks they hadn't paid her more attention than everyone else.

"They scared me", Eddvia whispered and hugged herself like she felt chilly.

"Ah, don't let them", the Breton tried to reassure her friend. "They mostly don't need a real reason for the things they do. Maybe they're just bored – I would be if I had their routine."

A little smile appeared on the younger woman's face.

"All this walking around town and looking mean and repeating that Talos worship is forbidden all the time, you know.."

Eddvia laughed and looked a little more relaxed now that Muriel didn't seem to worry about it. "Are you sure it's okay?"

"Of course, let them ask all they want. They won't find anything." Muriel's smile was reassuring but her mind was racing. _Why_ did they ask questions about her?

"Alright.. I have to get back to work, I told Hulgard I had to see to some.. womanly business."

Muriel felt her smile drop as soon as the Imperial had left the alley. Actually she did worry about the matter – a lot to be honest. It wasn't only that the Thalmor's questioning would earn her the full attention of the city, which was something she didn't need right now, it also meant that the Aldmeri Dominion had decided that she was worth keeping an eye on even after the whole affair with Alduin was over. Maybe she had believed Elenwen too willingly when she had told Muriel that she wouldn't take action against her infiltration of the embassy. It should have made her suspicious back then and her role in the Civil War probably hadn't helped either.

She had to know what they knew and what they wanted to achieve. If it was just a minor interest, she would find a way to avoid them, but if it turned out to be something bigger... A knot formed in her stomach thinking about it. She needed to know for sure. Even if she could do nothing about it, at least they wouldn't be able surprise her.


	8. Chapter Eight

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

* * *

Chapter Eight

Following the two Altmer around town wasn't difficult. Their tendency to take the same route everyday made them more predictable than they probably knew and Muriel quickly figured out where she could follow them unseen and where she had to take another way to wait behind a house they would come by.  
In the last few days she had witnessed them talk to a lot of Bruma's citizens, even some she herself hadn't talked to so far. The questions made the whole town nervous - when the Thalmor questioned the tailor at the market, Muriel thought the man would start to cry. Of course, he had nothing to contribute because they had only met briefly. Others like Stantus weren't intimidated this easily. He had actually given them a long and passionate speech about how talking about his guests would be bad for business which made him rise in Muriel's esteem by a lot.  
And yet, after three days of being on their tails, she wasn't any wiser. The questions they were asking were simple, unrevealing and mostly harmless – and it drove her mad. Where did the sudden interest come from? It had appeared shortly after the deliverance of the letter and Muriel was sure that there had to be a connection. She had to get her hands on that letter!

Deep in thought Muriel walked by the guard at the entrance. Hiding in the shadows, she passed him without notice. She crossed the inner courtyard, her slow steps leading her up the stairs, through the gate.  
Still a part of her mind told her how foolish she was. The message probably hadn't even been about her and yet... the behaviour of the Justiciar had changed, more than once she had caught him staring at her with a dark thoughtful look in his eyes. And all those questions. It was highly suspicious to say the least. Why he hadn't spoken to her directly, she could only guess. Not that it mattered, his behaviour had awoken her curiosity beside her suspicion. And this curiosity kept her from thinking about anything else than the Thalmor courier who had caused the whole thing. She had to get her thoughts in line.

Automatically her feet took her to Castle Bruma's sleeping quarters. Two more days she had tried to resist what she was about to do, telling herself how dangerous and stupid this was, but deep inside she knew what she needed to do to satisfy her mind, she needed to _know_.

The vast entrance hall was abandonend due to the late hour. To both sides of the archway leading to the throne room, guards leaned against the wall. With no superior present they seemingly wanted to get the nightshift to pass as comfortable as possible. In the relaxed silence of the hall, Muriel thought she could hear the deep breathing and couldn't help wondering if the guards were awake at all. They gave no sign of having seen her but she nevertheless tried her best to look like she had a purpose and quickly disappeared behind the pillars.

In front of the door leading to the guest wing, she hesitated.

_Is this wise..?_ She already knew the answer to that. _Far from it_.

As if on their own account her hands pushed the door open. This time there was a little creak but it went unnoticed. The thick carpets muffled her steps even more as she went on. One guard was patroling the hall but she easily avoided him, sneaking from one door to the other. Despite knowing she wasn't actually trespassing, she thought it best not being detected. She could imagine the questions.  
When she passed the corner at the end of the hall, she let out a breath she hadn't noticed holding. It wasn't the first time she walked this way. She had practiced. "_The way to perfection is repetition"_, said Vex's voice in her head.

Muriel followed the sloping hallway to its end, passed the entrance to the Service Hall and was pleased to see that even the Adjutant needed to sleep sometimes. The first time she had given in to the idea of coming here two nights ago, she was shocked to see him guarding the hallway. Over an hour she had watched him, waited carefully hidden behind a corner, as he stood there without any signs of tiring. Grudgingly she had gone back to the Jerall View Inn with the intention of coming back another time.

The second time she even had sneaked down to the quarters while everyone had been to the Great Hall for dinner. Once she had been in Armion's room, she had come to realize that the document wasn't there, he had to carry it with him. And again Muriel had to leave without achieving anything. She didn't dare to try and pickpocket the letter from him while he was walking through Bruma, it was too risky just for the sake of easing her mind.

Seeing the hallway deserted this time made her pulse speed up. Silently sending her gratitude to Nocturnal, she crossed the hall and hesistantly laid one hand on the wooden door.

_Last chance to back down_, she thought before drawing a deep breath and with as much care as she could master, opened the door wide enough to peek through.

_What if he's awake? _

It was long after midnight but who knew what his sleeping habits were? Maybe he was someone who read through the night?She was under no illusion that if this was the case and – Nocturnal preserve – he saw her, there was no plane of Oblivion she could run to to escape his wrath. Trespassing the personal quarters of the Thalmor Justiciar was probably a crime comperable to wearing an Amulet of Talos openly in front of him. Which was another thing she carefully avoided doing. The fact that she didn't need to leave Bruma in the near future and was still capable of defending herself should she need to, was enough to bury the enchanted necklace deep inside her backpack. Hopefully no one got curious enough to dig through that one day...  
She had learned the hard way that no representative of the Thalmor had any sense of humour regarding that matter. Not that they had any sense of humour regarding most other topics.

Right, why was she here again?

Dim light fell through the tiny crack she had opened. Its source was a single lit candle on the dining table opposite the door. Next to it, Muriel spotted the sillouette of a figure laying on the bed. Pale hair peeped out from under the covers, the body turned away from the room. Fixated on the sight before her, she opened the door a little more, just enough for her to fit through and push past.  
Carefully she let the door close. The room was in complete silence except the constant calm sound of breathing.

_What are you doing? This is insane!_  
It really was, wasn't it? But she had come this far, Nocturnal was with her tonight and would keep her steps muffled and her face in the shadows for sure.

Her eyes searched the room for the roll of paper. There were in fact lots of rolls, but she was looking for one specific, one with a striking golden seal. If Armion carried it around during the day, it had to be somewhere near. Hopefully he hadn't decided to take it to bed with him, that would be the end of her attempt. Her gaze fell on the overcoat of his uniform that was neatly hung over one of the chairs. With another glance to the sleeping Thalmor, she let her hands search through the pockets. There were surprisingly many, but most of them were empty. When her fingertips found paper in one of the inside pockets, her heart sped up. Carefully she pulled it out and a little smile stole over her face.  
There it was, the document that kept her mind busy for the last two weeks. It was heavy and the paper clearly expensive, the golden wax seal was broken and Muriel couldn't figure out what it might have shown before. Her hands shook a little when she unrolled the paper. Taking it with her was out of question, she had to read it here.

_Armion,_

_Your report of the Dragonborn's arrvial in Bruma has been conveyed. As you know, Elenwen, First Emissary and Ambassador to Skyrim, has a great interest on the matter and has requested the completion of Muriel Vaultirne's dossier. Since she is in your district, I hereby assign you to the task._

_I am well aware how the number of arrests in county Bruma is below average. I don't think I have to remind you of the consequences, if anything like the incident with Aera the Devout happens again._

_-Gilerion_

The handwriting was elegant but without any needless flourishes and it immediately gave the letter an even more official tone. Muriel let the paper sink and looked over to the sleeping man. Whoever had written that letter, he obviously had put some pressure on the Justiciar. And had made interrogating her a way out.  
She didn't like it, it meant that Armion would keep on watching her very closely – or worse, depending on how desperate he might get. Muriel didn't know what the mentioned consequences were, but she could imagine several different kinds of punishment the Thalmor would likely consider appropriate.

Wait, that wasn't sympathy, right? She frowned. No, maybe a hint of pity if it wasn't her head on the line, she was empathetic enough for that.  
At least her curiosity was silent for now.

As was her mind.

As was the rest of the room...

Her eyes grew wide and a knot formed in her stomach.  
Something was wrong, she could nearly taste the difference in the air. The quiet breathing of the sleeping Thalmor Justiciar was still there but it seemed... less deep, less relaxed. Her eyes floated over his backside covered by the blanket. His shoulders seemed tense. Muriel could feel her heart racing up and she had to cover her mouth to stop an involuntary gasp from forming.

_He's waking up._

Maybe her heart intended to jump out of her chest if the way of it pounding forcefully against her ribcage was any indicator. Muriel knew that feeling from many nearly getting caught moments when she was sneaking through some Draugr infested tomb or trying to get around a bandit camp. Sometimes she had indeed been detected but she had always successfully fought her way out.

She couldn't fight Armion, right? There was no way that would end well, even if she could best him. It would probably be considered as some decleration of war. The Thalmor would attack her the moment he turned around, Muriel was sure of it. She would, if anyone was bold enough to sneak into her room in the middle of the night.

But he hadn't turned yet.

Maybe he wasn't awake just yet but it was only a matter of seconds. Something definitely had disturbed his sound sleep.

Careful – not to quicken his awakening – Muriel tried to roll the document back up as quietly as she could. Her hands trembled when she tried to stuff it back into the pocket she had found it in. It slipped through her fingers and even though the carpet absorbed most of the sound, it still rang awfully loud in the silence when the paper touched the ground. She got on her knees to pick it up and froze when a soft sigh came from the bed, accompanied by movement. Her blood rushed in her ears, he was about to turn around!

She would never reach the door in time, not without a sound at least. Any attempt at shouting would definitely give away her identity. She could try to run for it, if she made it to the door. The cowl protected her from being identified as long as he just saw her from behind. If she was fast enough, he wouldn't see her face. If she made it to the service hall, she could hide in some storeroom, wait out the storm that was sure to break down.

_Fuck! That are a lot of 'ifs'.. _The Breton felt panic rise inside her chest and cursed her own foolishness. She should have known better than to act on some gut feeling and curiousity.

Still kneeling she felt herself unable to command her feet to get moving, afraid to break the silence of the room – but when Armion's arm began to move under the covers, she was forced to act. Muriel let mere instinct take over and without further thinking, knew what she had to do. Hiding had saved her in Solitude when she thought shopping at Radiant Raiment after hours was a great idea and a seemingly sleeping Endarie had nearly caught her. Muriel decided that from now on she would stop trying to sneak up on sleeping Altmer, she was beginning to see a pattern here.  
As fast and quiet as she could, Muriel lowered her body to the side, keeping her weight on her left arm and sliding her legs from underneath her body. With as much body control as she could master she slipped under the bed.

It wasn't a big bed, large enough for one person to rest comfortably, and the woman trying to hide underneath had to lay straight on her stomach stretched all the length of the mattress to be completely hidden. For a moment she fought the urge to shut her eyelids like a child playing hide and seek, as if she would somehow vanish from the world.

_Please, Nocturnal.. lend me some luck_, she pleaded without a sound. Of course, the Daedra didn't answer. The man on the upper side of the bed shifted his weight from his left side to his right.  
_He must be facing the room now_, Muriel mused. For a moment there was no movement audible and she again held her breath. Her eyes darting over the slightly dusty floor in front of her face, she waited and prayed that she wouldn't have to sneeze.

Again the body on the other side shifted as she could feel the movement through the thick layer of hay that was between them. Her view fell to the edge of the bed as two feet were set on the floor. Muriel couldn't help but stare – he was barefoot. This whole moment was so bizarre and terrifying that her mind focused on that little detail of Armion actually acting like any other man – pardon, mer. What had she expected? That he slept in complete Thalmor uniform?

The Altmer lifted his body off the edge of the bed and the longest minute in Muriel's short life seemed to think this was the perfect moment to occur as he just stood there and stared at the paper on the floor. Muriel closed her eyes in horror for a moment, just to yank them wide open right again.  
His feet took a few steps towards the dinning table where he picked up the paper roll and turned it in his hands. She heard him touching the wooden surface and then walking to the other side of the room to the wardrobe and out of her view.

Muriel felt her lungs sting. She wasn't used to holding her breath as she carried a Circlet of Waterbreathing with her on all her travels. Of course that was of no use now. She soundlessly exhaled, just to draw an equally silent breath and kept it again inside her lungs.

She was unable to see Armion now but she heard the soft cling of a key ring. On the end table at the foot of the bed was a strongbox and at her first inofficial visit she had thought about picking the lock. The fact that the strongbox was too small to contain the letter, had stopped her.  
The key turned in the lock and with a metallic squeak the strongbox opened. The content was checked and apparently satisfied with everything being in place, the lit was closed again.

The room went utterly silent after this.

Muriel cursed her lack of vision from under the bed. With Armion by her feet she wouldn't even notice if he just looked under the bed from his point of standing. Or cast a Detect Life spell. She felt a sweat break. Would she even notice that spell? There had to be some sort of light at least, right?  
Several minutes passed and still not a sound was heard. The silence got excruciating. Muriel felt the muscles in her back start to tremble due to the ongoing tension.

The sudden sound of his voice nearly made her jump.

"There's no way out. Just show yourself, thief." He spoke silently but his voice was gravely.

_He knows. _Her heartbeat doubled.

She heard faster steps than before, but it was too late - a hand closed around her ankle. The young woman couldn't suppress the surprised gasp that excaped her as she felt herself being pulled from her hiding place. In her panic she tried holding on to something but her hands only found dust.

Still on her stomach she was dragged out, the single candle suddenly seemed as bright as the sun on a bright spring morning.

_No, no, no, no.._, her mind was racing and the panic finally took over as she tried to get away.

Armion let out a triumpant sound and quickly brought her escape to a halt by sitting on her back.

Muriel twisted under his bodyweight pinning her to the floor, her terrified mind didn't hear the sharp sound of the dagger being unsheathed and she only halted to the blade being painfully pressed between her shoulder blades.

"Just give me a reason", he hissed. Nothing seemed left of the way he normally spoke. The arrogant, but calm and polite tone was gone as barely suppressed anger threatened to burst through. She closed her eyes. Her face was still pressed in the thick rug underneath. To show her surrender she slowly held her hands to the sides of her head so he could see she was unarmed.

_He doesn't know it's you._ She nearly laughed out loud at her inner voice. _Not yet._

What he would do once he found out... Muriel could imagine many things and all of them were unpleasant in varying degree.

She felt him get off her back and took a badly needed breath. His hand grabbed her shoulder and roughly flipped her over. The room fell dead silent. Muriel opened her eyes in fear and found him kneeling at her side with the dagger still in his fist.

"Hey there..", she said sheepishly. _By the divines, shut up!_

He was clearly surprised. There was still anger in his eyes but just as much confusion. Now that she thought about it, she might never have seen that many emotions at once on his face at all. She could see them fighting for dominance for several seconds. Ultimately anger won.

"What is this? An assassination attempt?", he snarled coldly.

_What?!_

"What..no!" Her nervousness grew. "No, Armion...this is insane! I'm...I'm not even armed!"

Strictly speaking, that was a lie. But it was true that she had left all her physical weapons at the inn, everything metal made sneaking so difficult.

"Explain yourself or...", he slowly pressed out every word and clenched the fist around his weapon.

"I know what it looks like, but I would have brought a sword or a.. or a dagger at least, wouldn't I?" Nervously she licked her lips as her voice broke and her eyes fixated his dagger. "Please, don't..."

"Empty your pockets."

"I..what?" Her brain had problems processing the situation. She watched him with wide eyes.

"I said...", he repeated in slow emphasised words. "..empty your pockets, thief."

"I didn't steal anything!"

"Do not make me repeat myself again." He stood up without taking his eyes off her.

Under his cautious gaze Muriel sat up, but she didn't dare to stand and remained on the floor. She couldn't meet his eyes and so she looked at the carpet as she slowly laid out her belongings on the floor. It wasn't much since she left most of her things at the inn. Just some coins, two scrolls, a health potion as well as an invisibility potion and a handful of lockpicks.

His eyebrow rose at the lockpicks but he didn't comment. "No hidden dagger?"

"Like I said, I'm not armed.. do you want to search me?"

The Altmer shook his head and several minutes passed while he just stared at her. Muriel didn't like the look in his eyes, she knew he was calculating what was the best course of action. He had every reason to let the guards throw her into the dungeon – by Arkay, he probably could get away with just stabbing her down and claiming it had been in self-defence. And she had heard that the Thalmor had their very own prison whose location no one beside them knew... Her heart sped up even more, fearing the conclusion he may come to.

When Armion finally moved, he took a step in her direction, the dagger still in his hand – and Muriel nearly panicked again. "Wait! How about a deal?"

Her mouth had moved before she could think it through, but at least it had the effect of stopping him. His eyes were still wary and she quickly continued out of a sudden inspiration. "If you let me go, I might be able to help you... you know, with that dossier."

The Thalmor's eyes darted over to the table where the letter still lay innocently.

"Yes, I've read it", she admitted. There was no use in denying it, the paper hadn't just decided to fall out of his pocket and onto the floor.

"I could simply put you under arrest for your insolence and enforce interrogation."

Muriel nervously licked her lips. "Yes, but interrogating me isn't that simple, is it? If you want me to answer your questions, you can't gag me.. and if you won't gag me, I'm never actually unarmed.."

"Then why didn't you shout before, I wonder?", he asked.

"And wake up the whole castle? Everybody would know what's going on. That's exactly why I want you to let me go and never mention you saw me here in the middle of the night."

"You're fearing your impeccable reputation could get damaged." The arrogance in his voice was back and he raised his eyebrows mockingly. Muriel gritted her teeth and finally put her belongings pack into her pockets and got up. With the rising of her body, her confidence came back. Not fully – but enough to made her raise her eyebrows as well.

"As I see it, you need this deal even more than I do. I don't know what consequences that Gilerion is talking about, but I just assume he's your boss? What will happen if you don't get results? Degradation? Will he replace you? Punish you?" She was merely guessing but by the way his face hardened, she had hit home at least once. Armion crossed his arms in front of his chest and held her gaze coldly. Her heart still pumped blood at an incredible speed through her veins. Hopefully her talking wouldn't make the situation worse. Her offer was probably more beneficial for him than for her and she knew that he realised it, too. Mere pride was stopping him from taking it.

"I want you to keep in mind that your task will be even more difficult if I don't cooperate..", Muriel said and hoped that she didn't push her luck.

"If you think you can blackmail me into letting you go,..."

"I'm not blackmailing", she interrupted him. "I'm offering you an easy way out – both of us to be precise."

Armion continued to stare at her with dislike written all over his face. She held his eyes as good as she could but with every minute passing, the heartbeat in her chest got heavier.

Finally he nodded. "Very well. But be warned, Dragonborn, should you consider neglecting your promise, you will find that it's very uncomfortable to have me or the Dominion as an enemy."

Muriel didn't doubt his words for a second. Everything about the Aldmeri Dominion seemed to be uncomfortable.

"Now get out of here."

This time he didn't need to repeat himself. Muriel turned on her heel and was out of the door before he had a chance to change his mind. With her heart beating loudly in her chest, she left the guest wing and the castle behind. She wouldn't find any sleep this night.

* * *

_A/N: This is one of the scenes I couldn't get out of my head and it was written before the first chapter... well, the first draft had a different setting and completely different ending (wink wink), but basically... This and excessive listening to Two Steps From Hell's "Star Sky", which made it to the title as you can see..._

_If you liked it (or if you didn't), please leave me review. You would make my day :)_


	9. Chapter Nine

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

* * *

Chapter Nine

Had she lost her mind? Confused he read the letter again. And a third time. It didn't help much. Brynjolf scratched his head and turned the paper around to see if there was more to it. There wasn't, the back was empty.

"What's this?" Vex appeared so silently at his table that he nearly jumped. Damn this sneaky woman! With a wolfish smile she took the seat next to him. She had been gone for a few days, some job in Whiterun, and it visibly had lifted her spirits.

"A message from the Guildmaster", Brynjolf said and leaned back. "But it doesn't make any sense."

Ves raised one eyebrow and put out her hand. "May I?"

Without waiting for his answer, she took the letter and began reading. Her eyebrow rose even more until she reached the end. Then she started laughing.

"What's so funny?" Now he was even more confused, but Vex didn't answer and laughed until everybody's attention was on their table. Tonilia interrupted the estimation of Vex's stolen goods and curiously walked over to them. Vex handed her the letter without a word.

"Ohh.. and it was delivered by a courier? Brilliant! Well, she can be glad that I haven't started yet", the fence said with a big smile. Brynjolf looked from one woman to the other and he didn't like the knowing gaze they exchanged.

"Oh, Brynjolf, read it again. Everything's in here, if you're reading between the lines. Can't believe she lets you run everything when she's gone...", Vex teased and laughed again.

With furrowed brows, he took the letter back and started reading again.

_My dearest Brynjolf,_

_Words can't express how much I long to talk to you in person, I wish you'd come with me. Things would be so much easier with you by my side. How can a simple letter describe what I want to tell you?_

_I have arrived in Bruma but even though it is wonderful to look at, it's not how you said it would be. Most of the time it's just as cold as Skyrim, but I can see the Imperial City in the distance. We should definitely visit it once we're able to walk freely again. _

_Remember when we talked about getting some paint horses from Cyrodiil and maybe start our own bloodstock? I actually came to the conclusion that people in Skyrim would have no use for them, they may be bred to withstand the cold here but we both know that it doesn't compare to Skyrim winters. _

_Please tell Tonilia that she doesn't have to build the stables yet and apologize on my behalf if she already ordered the materials. I will make it up to her, maybe even bring her a gift from here!_

_You were right about sending me on vacation. It's exiting to see new places and meet new people. You would like my new friends, I hope I can introduce you someday. They really know a lot about horses! I think I will stay just a little while longer, until I can no longer stand the separation from you._

_With love,_

_Muriel_

"Oh."

* * *

The last rays of the setting sun were glowing on the horizon and dyed the far reaching land in fiery orange. The first stars already began their rule over the night sky and above Muriel's head The Steed shone, dominating the firmament with a calming sparkle.

With Bruma at her feet, she could finally think straight. In what a mess she had navigated herself this time, was beyond her comprehension. After the stupid idea of infiltrating the Thalmor embassy, she had sworn to never get involved with these people again. Now she wasn't only involved, this was worse. She took a sip from one of the bottles of cheap wine she had brought along and let the sour liquid run down her throat. It was the perfect wine for her mood, not something to accompany a nice dinner with, but a wine that had to be drunk at large quantities to drown out any thought and make one feel even more awful afterwards.

After Armion had caught her red-handed two weeks ago, they hadn't had any contact. It might have been because Muriel quickly changed direction everytime she saw him somewhere in the distance while he patroled Bruma or maybe because he never actually tried to reach out to her. Either way, after a few days she began to think that maybe she got away with a black-eye and when the Count's steward had mentioned the ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple, it had been the perfect opportunity to get some distance between her and the ever-hovering presence of the Thalmor Justiciar.

So, now here she was. Cloud Ruler Temple – Delphine had told her about the center of Blades, high above all cities of Cyrodiil, a symbol for the peak of power the order had reached. By the looks of it, the temple was in his current state for many years; it's roof was mostly collapsed and nature had taken back the stones one after one. The trebuchet she had seen on her way up made it relatively clear what had caused the collapse. She didn't even had to see the skeletons – both mer and men – to understand what had happened. Notes scattered around the temple, written both before and during the battle, had provided her an insight and with a bitter laugh she drank again. It was quite ironic that she had chosen this place to get distance from Bruma. Of all the places she could have chosen, she chose this – an old battlefield between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Blades.

It was a strange and haunting place to spend the night, but she had made camp in the great hall nevertheless. After a few tries the old fireplace was now burning again and slowly warming the room. Despite the freezing temperature here in the mountains, Muriel had to take a walk through the courtyard and – armed with a fur coat – had found a beautiful spot on the large battlements that rewarded her with a fantastic view of Bruma at the foot of the mountains.

Enjoying the silence around her, Muriel's gaze drifted over the city below her feet. She had spent enough time there to have a basic idea of what was going on right now. People heading to the warmth and comfort the inns profided, the guards from the nightshift taking up their duty and Neremus Agrecian probably was about to light new candles in the cathedral. As she took another sip, the sun said farewell with a last sparkling ray and night took over with Secunda and Masser glowing over the lands.

_What was that?_

For a moment she thought she had seen a light flashing in the corner of her eye, not much more than a reflection, but when she turned towards the courtyard, nothing seemed out of order. She had spent far too many hours in old ruins to simply ignore it. Maybe this place was haunted after all and a restless soul had decided to wander outside the temple's walls? Muriel fell back into the shadows of the remaining framework on the battlements and carefully watched over the overgrown place. There – was that movement?

A dark figure separated from the shadows and slowly walked up the stairs. Definitely not a ghost. Muriel's eyes followed the figure on its way through the courtyard and towards the great main entrance. It opened the door and was even darker against the sudden light that fell through the open door. For a few moments it just stood there, taking in the burning fire on the inside as well as her belongings she had left within, before entering the temple and closing the door behind. Muriel cursed her carelessness of leaving her backpack at her camp. At least she had her sword with her. Without a sound she set the bottle to the ground and unsheathed Dawnbreaker. She definitely hadn't expected company in this remote place. Should she sneak over and look where the figure had disappeared to? That would mean giving up her hiding place. On the other hand, she didn't want anybody to go through her belongings.

_Oh the irony.. it's okay if you do it, isn't it?_

She had to get her stuff back, but just as she stepped outside of the shadows, the door opened again and the person walked outside. Muriel quickly stepped back. In her haste she knocked the bottle over and instinctly crouched to catch it and avoid it rolling further over the stones. It didn't really matter, the sound of glass against stone was ear-piercing in the silence anyway. Muriel cursed silently and with a sigh saw how the figure was already on its way towards her.

She stepped back under the moonlight to fully show herself, but kept her sword ready. A few steps away, the figure stopped, removed its hood and she finally saw who had caused the disturbance.

"What are _you_ doing here?", she gasped.

The Thalmor crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Maybe you want to throw some skulls over the battlements, maybe all that noise hasn't reached the last ogre yet. Or maybe they interpret it as some sort of territorial behaviour and it would keep them away. Since you seem to claim every last part of the frozen county as your own."

Muriel stared at him in silence. Did he follow her up here?

"What, no snappy respond? How unusual – and I thought it's your throat you're celebrated for. Since you just proved again how sloppy you are at sneaking..."

Slowly and with her eyes warily on the Altmer in front of her, she put the sword away. She wasn't sure what to do with the wine bottle in her hands, so she just took a sip.

"Drowning the burdens of a hero?"

Muriel rolled her eyes and walked straight past him towards the temple. "I'm not in the mood for your spite."

Armion followed her immediatley. "Oh, you're not in the mood? Like, let's see, 'being woken up by an insolent thief in the middle of the night'-not in the mood?"

Muriel quickened her pace and reached the door before him. In a short childish moment she thought about barricading the door, but quickly abandoned the idea. Armion entered shortly behind her.

"As I see, you made yourself quite at home already."

"Did you follow me here from Bruma?", she ignored his comment and leaned against one of the tables.

"Actually, no. These ruins are not your property, Dragonborn, I can come here as often as I wish. But the steward did mention Cloud Ruler Temple to Count Carvain a few days ago and since you were nowhere to be found, I just guessed."

"I don't think it's appropriate for you to be here", Muriel said stubbornly. The bottle of wine was already half-empty and it was probably a bad idea to cloud her senses right now. Nevertheless she took another sip.

He raised his eyebrows. "But coming all the way up here, after the question of your connection to the Blades already came up, to..well, to get drunk as it appears, that is appropriate in your world, Dragonborn? It might give the impression that you mourn them." He picked up a rusty helmet and turned it in the light before sending it back to a pile of rubble with a bored sigh.

"Of course I do even if I'm not here for this. Their death was unnecessary, just like the deaths of most."

He laughed at her answer. "Well, by the scales of Auri-El, aren't we fortunate to have you to decide whose death is necessary. As you might have noticed, my people are lying here as well. Are you mourning them as well?"

The Altmer took a few steps towards her to lean against one of the pillars and watched her with crossed arms while she just stared at him. She had never thought about it. Every Thalmor soldier who had found his last rest here... they deserved it, didn't they? They were the ones attacking after all. They had known what they got themselves into.

_But you did attack Windhelm with the Legion, didn't you? Surely the Imperial soldiers who died there deserved it as well._ She closed her eyes for a moment to make the voice in her head shut up. This wasn't comparable.

_Why not?_

"I am here, however, to collect your debt", Armion's voice brought her back to reality.

"My.. debt?", Muriel asked quietly. Of course, he hadn't forgotten.

"Surely you didn't think your burglary would be without consequences? And since you so kindly suggested a solution... I have prepared a little something." With that he broke away from the pillar and walked over to her. He placed a roll of paper on the table and he looked at her with a sneering smile when she hesitated. "You're allowed to read this one."

Muriel picked up the paper with a frown and unrolled it while she watched the Thalmor warily. Lowering her eyes on the paper, she began to read.

"_The following agreement is entered into by and between..._ what is this?"

"A collection of terms defining a few general rules."

"And you want me to sign this?" Muriel waved the paper in disbelief. _No way._

Her eyes flew over the text and everytime she came across a perticular unsettling passage, she snorted and shook her head. "I won't.. uh what was that? _Answer any given question, no matter the content, with nothing but the truth_ and certainly I won't _give evidence if the truthfullness is in doubt. _Firstly, we both know there are things I can't talk about without incriminating myself..."

"Oh does the Nords favourite war hero suddenly have skeletons in her closet? By the gods, I'm shocked", he interrupted with a sarcastic voice.

"... secondly, I won't play this question-answer game. Also, I have neither the time nor the wish to do this four times a week." Maybe her gut feeling wasn't the best when it came to other things, but this time it was screaming. Nothing on Nirn would make her agree to this.

"This is not negotiable. Pardon me for not trusting solely on your reliability, but this agreement has to be signed."

"Not this one, no." Putting the paper back on the table, she held his eyes stubbornly. Armion's face darkened, but before he could answer, she continued. "If you insist on this, we will write a new one. And we will negotiate every last word if necessary. How about we cut out the verbal sparring and have a civil conversation?"

Silence stretched between them while they stood facing each other, with crossed arms, like a silent battle of will. Just as Muriel thought she'd cave in, he picked up the paper and with a flash it ignited. Muriel raised her eyebrows at the overly dramatic gesture, but she knew better than to comment.

"Mh. To hear you speak of civility is somewhat... disarming, considering our environs. This city is filled with uncultured louts who I suspect would quickly turn on each other for an ancient bottle of mead. Given that you at least have the vocabulary and mental faculties to understand the concept of civil society..."

"Civil conversation means that I, too, can ask questions. And it also means, I want you to treat me like an equal", she ignored the insult. It felt like the negotiations had already begun. Her heart pounded heavily, was she carrying matters too far? She couldn't back down or her life would be miserable from the moment she left these ruins.  
Armion's eyes narrowed slightly. "There never was equality between men and mer, nor will there ever be. You're no longer in the position to make demands, Dragonborn. I already let you leave unharmed."

She could feel her temper rising and again cursed whatever had made her propose a deal in the first place. By the gods, what had she got herself into? "Actually I am. You let me go, true, but I don't think the possibility of you telling anyone is much of a threat. It's your word against mine and if you like we could bet on who the Count likes more. Besides, I was told I have the immortal, unchanging soul of a dragon, we are believed to be the children of Akatosh, how's that for superiority? I think my price just increased."

For a moment Armion seemed to be biting his tongue to keep back an insult.

"It's not much I ask for", Muriel said with a smile. She felt that she won this round. "Let me get paper and ink. I think I saw some in the other wing..."

* * *

Three hours later the picture in the great hall had changed. The table in front of him was cluttered with paper rolls, leaving just enough space for the Dragonborn's feet to rest between them. Even the empty bottle of wine had rolled somewhere and was probably never seen again. Armion was mildly impressed that the woman still appeared to be mostly sober, but it was probably due to the fact that she had spent the last years with those constantly drunk Nords.

With her head tilted back, the Dragonborn was covering her face with her hands in frustration like this was the most mentally exhausting thing she had ever done. It wouldn't surprise him.

The progress had been slow – they had argued over phrases and words just as much as over the actual conditions – but with a satisfied smile, he finished the last sentence and was quite pleased as he watched the ink dry. To some parts he had to agree grudgingly but others he had asserted and defended successfully and all in all, this was probably as good as it would get.

The woman across from him got up and walked over to her camp to dig through her backpack. Armion looked over when he heard her uncork a bottle and with a frown picked up the quill again.

"I hope you're happy know that we finished this thing – hey, what are you writing there?", she came over and looked over his shoulder. Armion corrected his former thought – she was definitely drunk if she invaded his personal space this carelessly. Leaning to the side to get back some distance, he finished the additional paragraph.

"You added that I have to appear sober and with a clear mind?", she snorted and looked at the new bottle of wine. "Fair enough. But all of this would have been easier, if you had some, too."

"I would never intoxicate myself with this poor excuse of a wine." He grimaced at the thought of it to emphasize his opinion about her choice of drink.

"That's too bad, I bet that'd be a sight I never forget", she shrugged and took the paper roll to read it.

Fortunately she decided to head over to the fire and, sipping on her wine, looked highly concentrated while she read. Armion watched her back but he didn't really see her. His mind was busy planning out how he should proceed to get the most out of this. He doubted that any other Justiciar had been in any similar situation and there wasn't a guideline he could follow like some of the interrogators did. But he was skilled and experienced enough to improvise – and after all, that were the most successful interrogations anyway.

Normally he would be thankful for the opportunity to test his skills, but the circumstances were more than unideal and there was still the pressing matter of his superior watching his every step since those Talos worshipers had escaped his grip before he could deal with them. It was to this day one of the failures that annoyed him the most – the others were minor incidents from many years ago – but this... this had been a severe mistake he could blame no one but himself for. Though it would have helped if the soldiers had kept quiet like he had ordered them to, but there was no use brooding over spilled milk. He had been in charge and therefore he had to be the one taking the responsibilty.

The Dragonborn came back and handed him the document. Armion briefly checked if her signature was indeed where it was suppose to be. It was scribbly and unsteady, the exact opposite to his own clear and neat handwriting – but otherwise everything was in order. He rolled the paper and put it into his inner pocket before rising from the chair.

"Well...eh.. until Fredas then?" She looked uncomfortable, like handing over the signed document had made this absurd situation more real.

"I will inform you if I find a suitable location." The _where_ was something, they hadn't been able to agree on and had left it open after they had been arguing in a circle. The young woman had refused to go anywhere near the dungeons of Castle Bruma – maybe she was afraid that one day she wouldn't leave – and he on the other hand, was unwilling to sit amongst the locals in an overcrowded inn. The look she gave him when he had suggested his quarters – even though she had already broken in – was answer enough and even the thought about their current location, Cloud Ruler Temple, had been quickly abandoned. It was way too much effort to climb up the mountains everytime and to prepare the place if they didn't want to freeze to death.

The woman nodded, still uncomfortable, and Armion teleported without another word.

* * *

_A/N: If you liked it (or if you didn't), please leave me a review. You would make my day :)_


	10. Chapter Ten

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. __No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_A/N: I'm sorry this took so long and is rather short... I wrote this chapter, dumped it, wrote it again, dumped it again, abandoned the whole thing for weeks because I was so unhappy with it, wrote another version, tried to distract myself by writing 50.000 words in another story and... well, you get the picture. Problem was that I could only think of what others would think of it, I stumbled into the trap of thinking only about the reason why no one wants to review it and forgot about why I was writing it in the first place - because I enjoy it. I'm trying to find that feeling again. Sorry about the emotional dump, I shut up now... I wrote this chapter in one afternoon and just proofread it briefly, so I apologize for any mistakes. Have a wonderful day!  
_

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Chapter Ten

Muriel awoke with a bad feeling. It hadn't anything to do with the quality or quantity of her sleep, but more with a gnawing in her guts that forced her out of bed and made her restlessly reach for her knapsack. She hardly noticed the shaking of her hands as she searched through its content. Her heartbeat sped up each time her fingers didn't find the object she was looking for.

_It has to be here!_

She tried to calm herself repeatedly, took another deep breath and began her search anew. After the fourth time, she turned the knapsack upside down and tipped everything out on the carpet. Her hands searched through potions and books, spare clothes and all the little oddities she had long forgotten about, but finally she had to accept that the amulet wasn't there. Muriel closed her eyes to fight down the panic.

Taking two steps at once, she ran upstairs. The taproom was nearly empty, it was too early even for the most faithful customers.

"Has someone been to my room?"

Stantus looked up from the ledger. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Stantus, has someone – _anyone_ – been to my room when I wasn't there?", she asked again.

"No, of course not", the Imperial answered slowly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Well, except Hjotra, of course." He straightend his back. "Do you want me to get her?"

Muriel waved her hand impatiently. The innkeeper's wife was too proud of their inn's reputation to do something to damage it. And touching a guest's belongings would certainly ruin it. The feeling in her guts came back with force. She had to assume the worst.

Without another word she turned around and returned to her room. Ignoring the mess, she sat on the bed and broodingly stared at her knapsack.

The last time it had left her room had been three days ago when she had taken it with her to Cloud Ruler Temple. It also had been the only time it had been unattended outside of her room. Unfortunately it had also been the only time she was sure someone else had been able to touch it.

She covered her face with her hands. "Shit."

Her voice sounded too loud in the empty room, but for a moment she still had the urge to scream. Had she just left it at the inn...

If Armion had found her amulet, she was screwed. He had to have it, there was no other plausible explanation. But why hadn't he said anything right away? Wasn't it the perfect opportunity to mess with her? He could've arrested her on the spot. A vivid image of the justiciar waving the amulet of Talos in front of her face with a spiteful smile on his lips appeared before her inner eye. He couldn't have kept quiet out of the kindness of his heart – Muriel doubted the Altmer being capable of something like that. No, he had to have another motive.

She released her lower lip which she had been biting on for the last minutes. Could she dare asking him about it? A short laugh escaped her. She could as well knock on the Thalmor prison's door and propose her arrest. She had never worshipped the Nordic man-god, the Bretons in High Rock had their own legends and heros. But owning one of his amulets was enough to give the Thalmor a reason to assume she did. And Muriel had no way to proof them wrong.

* * *

"Anything else?"

Muriel tore her eyes from the desk between them, only to let them wander over the bookshelf behind the man. _Flight from the Thalmor_ was right next to _The Talos Mistake_. She nearly laughed. Someone in the castle had a quite bitter sense of humour. The fact that she was sitting in the Count's study, narrowed it down. She wondered if the books had always been like that or if they had been rearranged after the room had been chosen for them to meet. How on Nirn Armion had managed to convince the Count to let them use the study, she didn't know, but it surely hadn't been voluntarily.

The room itself was small and windowless. A wooden desk took up most of it and Muriel tried to imagine the Count sitting there, working on whatever administratively paperwork he had to write and failed. Somehow it was easier to see a vision of the steward working here.

Muriel remembered her excitement to visit the private wing of Castle Bruma when Armion's letter had found her. It was an opportunity she couldn't have dreamed of. Neither Crouches nor any of Bentior's contacts had any clue where the treasury might be, so she had to assume that it was somewhere behind the guarded doors that lead to the Count's private quarters. There had been one door that had caught her attention on the way through the hallway, but of course she couldn't investigate further at this time.

Armion finished his writing and looked up when she didn't answer.

"Dragonborn?", he spoke again and she turned her attention back to the Altmer on the other side of the desk. The paper in front of him was already half-filled with his clean handwriting, but the more interesting notes were still hidden inside the leather-bound file next to it. Muriel knew that it had to be her dossier, the one Elenwen must've written.

"No, nothing else", she finally answered his question and watched him reread his notes.

"That is indeed a long list of titles you have gathered."

Muriel felt a small smile tug on the corners of her mouth. Brynjolf always told her that she should be proud of her accomplishments, but she didn't like bragging. Especially when it felt that people liked to give her credit way too easily because they knew she was Dragonborn.

"I've made some friends over the last years..."

"Indeed. And not only from this realm as it seems." Armion checked his notes again. "You managed to get the attention of four... no, five Daedric Princes. Congratulations are in order, I assume."

"Thanks, the Vigilants of Stendarr were thrilled as well", Muriel ignored his ironic tone. "Luckily they stick to disapproving looks when you're armed to the teeth in Daedric artifacts..."

"Unlike others you mean?"

Muriel shrugged and stared again at the desk.

"Any other artifacts you relied on?"

She looked up to him and tried to find the meaning in this question. Armion's eyes remained calm, but she was sure to see a hint of a mocking challenge. The Altmer rarely showed open anger, masked his words with polite insults and stinging sarcasm, but Muriel knew when he was baiting her. And this smelled like a trap.

She felt goosebumps crawl up her back as her muscles tensed, ready to react, ready to jump out of the way.

_He knows._

"So you have it", she said, unwilling to play his game. If the Thalmor had her amulet, there was no use in denying it. And the fact that she wasn't staring at prison bars yet, could only mean that he liked to keep the leverage for now.

"Do I have what?", Armion asked with a complacent smile and leaned back in his chair.

Muriel rolled her eyes despite the way his relaxed posture made her hair stand on end. "You know what I'm talking about."  
"Yes, but I want you to say it." The shimmer in his eyes grew colder. "Is there something you would like to confess, Dragonborn?"

She knew he had it. He knew that she knew. Then why was it so difficult to say it out loud? Muriel bit her lower lip. There was a reason she had kept the amulet hidden and never worn it openly. Just like the Justiciar, everyone would only think of her as one of Talos' worshipers. No one cared about the fact that she didn't grow up with Talos and before she had come to Skyrim, she had only briefly learned about the man who had funded the Empire and was worshipped by the Nords as a god. That one time she had tried to explain to someone the effects the amulet had on her, hadn't ended well.

"Do you...", she started and drew a deep breath. "Did you take the amulet from my backpack? Because you had no right - "

"I had _no right_? To what? To steal from you? That is pretty bold coming from a thief", the Altmer interrupted her. "Your owning of the amulet is not only offensive, it is against the dictate your own Emperor signed into law. So you see, it is actually you who had _no right_."

He reached into his pocket and when he retracted his hand, the axe-like pendant sparkled innocently against the dark leather of his glove. Muriel's eyes followed his movement as he placed the amulet on the table between them. It was hers, she recognized it right away and silently cursed herself for trying to make it more her own. For a moment she thought about reaching out and grabbing it.

"I will keep this – call it an insurance. If you keep up your end of the bargain, maybe I won't feel the need to mention that everyone's favourite dragonslayer is nothing more than a law-breaking Talos worshiper. I'm afraid none of your titles can safe you then."

"I... I am not...", Muriel muttered. Armion raised his eyebrows and she cleared her throat. "I don't... worship Talos. It's not like that...it helps with the shouts."

She didn't know why she tried to explain herself, it hadn't worked on other people and it surely wouldn't work on a Thalmor Justiciar who didn't care about _why_ she had the amulet in the first place. Still she felt like she had to explain. Armion's eyebrows wandered even higher.

"It makes them less exhausting." She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the back of the chair. Even through closed lids, she felt the Altmer's gaze on her. Maybe letting an enemy out of her sight was foolish, but right now both of them knew that she had lost this round and when he remained silent, she continued. "I don't know why, no one could ever tell me why... because no one else could feel the effect, you know."

Though she had heard mages tell her about the magic pulsating through it, no one felt like investigating the hidden magic of the amulet any further – either out of fear of dealing with anything Talos-related or because the amulet had no significant effect on any of its other wearers, Muriel wasn't sure. But it was most likely that none of the mages she had asked, cared enough to invest time and ressources.

"Unfortunately no one will think an effect only you claim is there is justification enough", his voice seemed to answer her thoughts and forced her to open her eyes again.

"No, I know." A humourless smile appeared on her face. "Guess we're even now?"

Armion's eyebrows furrowed, but luckily he spared her another lecture about what he thought about their equality. Admittedly, she felt like they were far from even. If this was a score that needed to be settled, she was several points behind him. It had all started with the Thalmor starting to investigating her, asking questions and ultimately attracting her attention as well as her curiosity. Her breaking into his room to read the letter Gilerion had sent, had been nothing more than a response to this. From there on, every step they had taken, had been more advantageous to him than to her. The agreement he had made her sign, the schedule he was enforcing on her and parading her missing amulet in front of her – it was all meant to keep her down. If she would listen even a little more to the part of herself that was dovah, she wouldn't allow such an insolence, but she refused. Instead she sighed and accepted, just like had accepted every situation the last years had thrown at her.

"So, what now?"

The Thalmor didn't answer and returned his attention to the dossier in front of him.

"Why the knots?", he asked out of the sudden without looking up. Muriel stared at him. She had not expected him to notice, but to be fair... he must've seen a few amulets of Talos in his life. Even through his straight tone, she heard the interest though it was probably just an academic one.

"Weird habit. My grandmother used to do it on all her necklaces." Her grandmother had always winked at her and had called it the old magic before taking the necklaces from Muriel's clumsy fingers and locking them in the chest again. A sad smile stole on her face and she was glad that Armion's eyes remained on the dossier. That smile wasn't for him to see, nor for anyone else and therefore Muriel buried it again behind a straight face just as the Justiciar looked up, picked up his quill and filled its tip with ink again.

"Now... tell me, Dragonborn... what were you doing at the Thalmor Embassy in Skyrim?"


	11. Chapter Eleven

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_A/N: Short chapter again, sorry. It's more like Chapter Ten Part Two, I guess. The next chapter will be longer and probably up next week since it's basically finished. To be honest, the next five chapters are basically finished, I just hate editing.. Anyway, have a wonderful day and enjoy :)_

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Chapter Eleven

For a second Armion saw the woman's eyes flicker to the pocket he had put the amulet in and stifled a smile. Finally her confidence seemed to leave her and allowing him to lead the conversation in the direction he wanted it to go. The whole day he had thought about if revealing the amulet would be wise this early on. It was after all an advantage that could've been useful in many situations she needed a little more pressure. He had assumed he'd had more time, but it couldn't be undone now anyway. Maybe it was for the best; she had to be shown right from the start that he was the one in charge here. He couldn't help but wonder how long the effect would last before the Dragonborn recollected herself and he would actually be forced to let consequences follow. Whatever those would look like.

"Is that my dossier? From Elenwen?", she asked, staring at the document in front of him. Her body leaned forward in an attempt to read the words upside-down and Armion pulled the paper slightly further away from her curious eyes. His brows furrowed in disapproval. The Dragonborn had a habit of answering a question with a question and it was already bothering him. She probably didn't even do it on purpose, but he would prefer straight answers.

"If you'd let me read it, I could directly point out everything that's wrong, you know...", she suggested with a shrug, but it was nothing more than a feeble attempt of making herself appear unaffected. Armion noticed the way her fingers fumbled with a seam of her patched armor, slowly tearing it apart in her need to busy her hands.

"If some of the statements and presumptions the First Emissary made are indeed in need of alteration, I will see to it, Dragonborn." Armion kept his voice leveled and his gaze remained on the woman in front of him until she could no longer avoid it.

"Now, the Embassy, if you don't mind."

"Right", she said and scratched her head like it would help with her memory. A strand of hair stuck out of her braid where her fingers had unintentionally loosened it and she blew it out of her face. Not that it mattered, it didn't made the mess any worse than it already was. No Altmer woman – or man to be honest – would ever go out into public with what the Dragonborn considered a hairstyle. "The Embassy, right..."

"Ambassador Elenwen states here that you infiltrated the building?", he helped out with a sarcastic smile. The woman shifted uncomfortably on her seat.

"I attended a party there, yes. With a legitimate invitation."

"With an invitation no one can remember writing; to a party which you left unauthorized to cause a lot of... trouble." The trouble he was referring to was, as the document stated, the loss of three guards, one battlemage's slit throat and the Inquisitor in charge of the interrogations disappearing without trace as well as the escape of three prisoners. Apparently the infiltrator had stolen an enchanted circlet, which Armion assumed had been only taken for sport, and – what was even more valuable – several classified documents. It was more efficient than he had thought her capable of – but to be fair if he wouldn't know, just by looking at the pale Breton before him, he hadn't thought her capable of killing a dragon either.

"We both know those are baseless accusations. I'm sure someone would have witnessed me leaving... especially the Ambassador. She seemed to have an eye and ear on every guest." The Dragonborn crossed her arms in front of her chest defensively and held his gaze with another stubborn attempt of gaining back ground.

Armion pressed his lips together. It was true that no one had actually seen her leave and the only ones who could identify the thief were dead, but it was the only logical conclusion to make. There had been an incident between one of the guests and a servant that had caused enough distraction for anyone to disappear and the Dragonborn had been the only one missing from the party after the turmoil had calmed down enough to count the guests. Since by the time no one had known who she was – the stories of a Dragonborn had been nothing more than rumours back then – the search for the infiltrator had remained fruitless. The agent in charge of the backround checks and invitations had been degraded and most likely punished when Muriel Vaultirne's forged papers couldn't stand a closer examination.

"Have you ever met her? Elenwen, I mean? I think you would like her. She's truly born for the position she's in. A true politician...", the Dragonborn suddenly said when he remained silent. There was more truth to her words than she probably knew. For a position as important as Ambassador, his people weren't merely raised. The Aldmeri Dominion was too much planning ahead for that. Armion had no doubt that Elenwen knew how to do her job if her career had been decided before her birth and all her upbringing had been focused on the position she was suppose to fill. Someone of her position had to know how to pull several strings at once in order to avoid to perish or being replaced. And Elenwen was ambassador for many years now.

"...and a very attentive host to be fair. Her smile was almost convincing and the wine wasn't bad." The woman stopped for a moment and her eyes lowered again to his pocket. "She already tried, you know? To pin the infiltration on me I mean. When we met at High Hrothgar, she was..um.. _kind enough_ to assure me she wouldn't take action. But I think she just doesn't have any evidence."

"Do I need to remind you that you signed a contract that requires you to tell the truth?", he said to interrupt the Dragonborn's blathering. As informative as letting someone trying to fill the silence could be, this wasn't going anywhere. "Are you going to stick to your statement or would you like to tell me what happened to the dossiers that went missing?"

Her mouth twisted into a small, humourless smile. "Theoretically they're safely stored away."

Armion hardly resisted rolling his eyes. Vague answers were nearly as annoying as counterquestions. And it was for others to decide if receiving the documents was pressing enough to search through the Dragonborn's houses.

"I rephrase then: I assume those classified documents were the main target to begin with. Why those and what did you need them for?"

"If I were the one who infiltrated the Embassy you mean?" The Breton looked uncomfortable, but her voice remained remarkably steady. This time he couldn't help but to sigh with annoyance.

"Yes, _theoretically_ if it helps."

"Well, then...", she said with a crooked smile and relaxed visibly. "We suspected the Dominion to have something to do with the dragons rising from their graves."

He stared at her in disbelief until he noticed ink dripping from the tip of his quill unto the paper below. With a silent curse he set it to rest in the inkwell. Out of all conspiracies, he had not expected this.

"Unfounded as it turned out, you were just as clueless as we were", the Breton continued. "It took a while until we found out about Alduin. So in a way the... um... theoretical stealing of the documents cleared your name. You're welcome."

Armion did notice how she had switched from herself being at the party to her and several other people planning the infiltration. When he wanted to ask her about it, another more prominent thought wrestled its way out of his mouth before he could stop it. "And what reason should the Dominion have for you to assume such a ridiculousness?"

"It didn't sound ridiculous at the time", she said and laughed softly. "Delphine thought..."

Suddenly the Dragonborn looked alarmed. Every last bit of colour disappeared from her face as she slowly covered her mouth, trying to keep herself from talking. It took him a second longer to process why that name sounded so familiar. Armion sat up straight in his seat, his eyes fixating her. He had heard the name before, of course he had. Probably every Thalmor agent had.

"So you _are_ in contact with a fugitive Blade. Tell me her current location. Now", he demanded and was tempted to get around the desk to speed this up. This was excactly what he needed, it was way more than he could've hoped for! If he was the one to bring down one of the last Blades, his position would be secured for all future.

"I don't know where she is!" Her voice was close to a squeak as she spoke through her fingers, eyes darting nervously through the room. Armion just snorted doubtfully at her statement.

"No, I swear!", she said desperately. "I haven't seen her in more than three years!" His eyes fixated hers and his instinct told him that she was telling the truth. Her despair looked real, the shock about the slip genuine. "I broke the contact when she... when she asked me to do something I couldn't."

"Being associated with the Blades is a crime for which you could be hanged, Dragonborn", he growled. "I have warned you before."

"The contract says that I can't be charged for anything you learn during these sessions!", she said with panic in her voice. For a moment it was pleasing to hear her this fearful, but then he realised that he couldn't break their agreement – not yet, not now. Not on the first evening. If something as important as a Blade's name slipped her this easily, what secrets was she actually _trying_ to hide? Armion let himself fall back into his seat. As frustrating as it was, he had to let her off the hook – for now at least. Slowly he relaxed his hands which had unconciously clenched into fists. It took several deep breaths for him to recollect himself.

"I need the last location you've seen her."

"No." The woman's voice was still weak, but her eyes were determined. She had realized that he wouldn't arrest her on the spot.

"Excuse me?"

"I can't do that. I know what happens then; I've seen the Thalmor search for a Blade with my own eyes – gods know, I still have a scar!"

Armion's mouth remained in a thin line. Her answer was unsatisfying to say the least. Furthermore it only raised more questions. There was neither any mention of the Dragonborn interfering with a Thalmor search party, nor a note about a failed arrest. If she was here, alive and healthy, he could only assume that one couldn't say the same about the agents she had encountered. Armion furrowed his brows. His annoyance about the disappearance of a whole squad was slightly overshadowed by another feeling. Surviving such an encounter was, even if he would never say it out loud, impressive. He made a mental note not to underestimate her based on her looks. It was easy to make such a mistake, especially if her big, fearful eyes gave her a youthful look, he needed to remind himself what she was capable of. She had probably seen more than most of her age and if this were a normal interrogation, he wouldn't even know where to start. On the other hand, most interrogations never turned out to be such an endless source of information.

"Why did you break contact?", he asked after a few minutes of tenseful silence.

"I already told you. We... um... disagreed."

"Don't test your luck, Dragonborn. On what did you disagree?"

"She wanted me to kill... someone. Someone I consider a friend", she said, but he knew that she tried to avoid answering properly. The Blades had once been a highly trained order of agents, he couldn't think of a single person this Delphine needed the Dragonborn to eliminate instead of doing it herself. When he expressed his thoughts to her, the young woman started shifting on her seat again. It was just their first evening and he already saved it at the back of his mind as a sign that he was getting close to interesting subjects.

"Paarthurnax is... difficult to reach so to say. Delphine can't get to him, but I can. Only that I refused and... well, we didn't part on very good terms", she sighed and lowered her gaze to the desk.

"What interest does a Blade have in the death of this man?"

A sad smile flashed over her face. "The Blades originated from dragon hunters, didn't they?"

The memory of the Dragonborn's only invitation to the Count's table forced its way before his inner eye. The topic had only been scratched on the surface, but enough to gain his interest in the conversation. Did he understand her right? If Delphine tried to revive the Blades – not as agents of the Empire, but with their original purpose – it was surely something of interest for his superior. Armion picked up the quill.

"So what you're meaning is that this..." He quickly checked his notes. "...Paarthurnax is...?"

"..a dragon. Yes", she finished his question. Armion didn't know what to reply to that. He had never seen a dragon and the first thing that would probably cross his mind was charging up a fireball if he ever would be in the presence of one. Talking to one and consider him a friend... the thought was absurd. This woman was absurd. His gaze fell on the dossier still open in front of him. This was not the direction he had wanted the conversation to take.

"It doesn't sound like the worst idea to put such a threat down. Why did you refuse?"

"Because...", she said and for a second her eyes sparkled challengingly. "...he changed. He challenged himself to overcome his nature. He fought himself and he won, he freed himself from Aldiun and took others with him. He is someone to look up to, not some threat that needs to be put down. He is my _friend_. As I understand, he's one of the reasons we're not all enslaved to the Dragon Cult today."

The Dragonborn had talked herself into a rage. With a sigh she forced herself to relax on her chair again before she continued.

"But Delphine thought if he was able to betray Alduin, he could as well betray us."

"And you disagree? A Khajiit can't change its spots just like that", Armion noted. Not that he would admit it, but the conclusions of the Blade made sense. Who would have thought that he would find himself agreeing here.

"Sometimes people change despite or even because of their flaws and I chose to trust him", she simply replied and rubbed her eyes. She looked exhausted, like she had let out her energy with every word she had said. And Armion found himself agreeing again. He too felt tired and he needed time to wrap his mind around everything he had heard so far, to write everything down, to figure out where to dig deeper and in which order, to write off to the Embassy for further information. The main part of his work had just begun. He looked over to the candles on the cupboard. They had burned down significantly since they had sat down. How long were they sitting here? Maybe it was enough for one evening, but before he could say anything, the Breton preempt him.

"But you asked about Delphine. And the answer is no, I don't know where she is or how to contact her. And no, I won't try to. And yes, that's my final statement."


	12. Chapter Twelve

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios (can I still say that after the recent events? ;) ). And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_A/N: I'm back already, who would've guessed? Yeah, me neither... Longer chapter as promised, longest chapter so far... enjoy! :)  
_

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Chapter Twelve

The sunrays sparsely lit up the lofty room of the cathedral. Even though the floors had been scrubbed recently, small flakes of dust elavated through the air, sparkling in the rays that hit the brighter parts of the tinted glass. They appeared to be dancing to music despite the room being in complete silence. Muriel watched them float lazily through the air until they eventually found a new rest on one of the shrines. There they would stay until someone stirred them up while praying or until they were cleaned off by one of the priests.

She sat on the very last of the wooden benches that filled the nave. They all faced towards the altar of St. Martin, but Muriel's gaze was focussed to her left where Akatosh's shrine as well as the god's image in the stained-glass window was placed. She wasn't praying – she had given up on that long ago – but whenever she found herself in need of complete silence, whenever the world outside threatened to drown out her own thoughts, she came to a temple to hear them. It didn't matter which god it worshipped, but a shrine of the father of dragons always attracted her attention. Even if all she did was staring at it.

The creaking of a door made her involuntarily wince. With a humming, one of the priest came up the stairs from the undercroft. He was about to walk towards the altar when he spotted her.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you", he said and stopped at her bench.

Muriel looked up to him. It was the same priest she had seen argue with Armion on her first day in Bruma. "Don't worry, Priest Neremus. I wasn't praying."

A small smile appeared on the Imperial's lips. It was the same smile her grandfather had smiled everytime she had come into the house with her boots muddy from the fields. A smile that had always made her look down in embarrassement, knowing that she shouldn't carry all the dirt into their home. And even now, Muriel felt herself lower her eyes to avoid his.

"May I?", he asked and pointed at the bench beside her. After a hesitant nod the priest seated himself next to her. Just like her, he watched the rays dance through the windows for a while before he spoke again. "The gods offer their guidance even to those who don't come to pray. But if you didn't come to worhip, what are you looking for?"

Muriel threw him a crooked smile. "A place to hide?"

The Imperial man looked at her with mild astonishment. "Our chapel offers even that if needed. But what is the Dragonborn hiding from, if I may ask?"

She wasn't surprised that he knew who she was. It had been several weeks since her arrival and even though she had never felt the need to attend the mass and therefore had never crossed paths with the priest after his little debate with the Thalmor, the citizens of Bruma were as fond of gossiping as the residents of any other town she had visited. People just liked to talk about everything that happened in town and most of them visited the cathedral frequently.

"Isn't it obvious?", Muriel asked.

Neremus nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, of course. I must admit, I have of course heard of this...um.."

"Mess?", she tried to help out with a chuckle. "You and probably everyone else."

Her meetings with the Justiciar had stopped being a secret the moment the guards at Castle Bruma had been informed to let them through the door to the Lord's Manor. Nobody knew any details – at least as far as she could tell – but by now the whole town was aware of it and of course was also talking about it. Muriel had heard some of the rumours and most of them were little more than wild conspiracy theories that she shrugged off. A handful of people knew the truth of course. Muriel had let out her sorrow at the Restful Watchman right after Armion had caught her in his room and Bentior and Crouches-In-Crevices had to ensure her that drowning herself in a barrel of mead wasn't a solution. And after the first word got out that the Dragonborn now visited the castle several times a week, Muriel had found herself once again being dragged into one of the alleys by a worried Eddvia. Muriel didn't know the other woman enough to entrust her with anything that had to do with illegal activities, so she had to leave out a few of the details. Besides, Eddvia loved to talk about other people. She had a kind heart and a loose tongue, both made her tell people way too much, way too easily. Muriel sighed and leaned back on the wooden bench. The thing with temples was that their benches were always uncomfortable.

"You can be free from worry – in all the years they roamed Bruma's streets, the Thalmor had never set a foot inside 's cathedral. You can hide as long as you like", the priest said with a smile.

"They didn't? Didn't they want to check if you have a shrine of Talos hidden behind a coffin?"

His eyes darkened slightly. "Not as long as I am here. This is a sacred place and it is my duty to keep it safe from intrusion. Count Carvain, of course, keeps them away from our chapel as well."

Muriel didn't answer. It was unlikely that the Count's word had any influence on whether or not the Thalmor decided to search the cathedral. They probably had done it anyway, without the priest's knowledge.

"I never congratulated on how you faced them outside. It was one of the first things I saw of Bruma and it really left an impression", she said after a while.

Neremus looked at her for a moment like he tried to remember what she was talking about. "Ah yes, thank you. Well, one has to stand up against supression – especially in religious matters, don't you think? The blessings of the gods are for everyone and everyone should be able to have access to them, even if the Aldmeri Dominion wants to dictate what gods people should worship. I have these debates on a regular basis, Armion is very... persistent. But I am sure you know that already."  
"Yeah, tell me about it...", Muriel muttered and furrowed her brows. In the last two weeks her meetings with the Justiciar had mentally exhausted her. After she had accidentally let Delphine's name slip in their conversation, she had watched her words more closely. But even with that, the conversations had become more and more like a room filled with pressure plates that she tried to avoid while he tried push her to set them off. The struggle was merely mentally, but it was draining. They had met five times now and had just reached the end of Elenwen's dossier in their last session. It was amazing how much the Thalmor Ambassador had been able to write down from their brief meetings and even though Muriel had never actually read the writing – not that she hadn't tried on all occasions to convince Armion to let her – the amount of information the Thalmor already had, worried her. What would they be able to do with everything she might say without thinking it through?

"Are you familiar with the story of Martin Septim? Maybe you would like to hear it?", Neremus suddenly asked to change the topic.

"I am aware of his story, but I would like to hear it anyway", she said and looked at the window on the other side of the hall. The tinted glass showed the image of a man in simple monk robes.

"Saint Martin had humble beginnings as a priest of Akatosh in the city of Kvatch", Neremus started. He sounded delighted, even though he must have told the story many times. "When Daedra overran the city during the Oblivion Crisis, Martin led the people to refuge in the chapel. The fabled Champion of Cyrodiil came to rescue him, and told him the shocking news that he was the son of the Emperor. This came as a surprise to him, but gave him new purpose after his home was destroyed. Along with the Champion and the Blades, Martin designed and executed a plan to undermine the efforts of Mankar Camoran and the Mythic Dawn cult."  
He stopped for a moment to allow his words echo in the room.  
"There was a great battle here in Bruma as the Great Gate was opened to secure an artifact of immense power for Martin's plan. Finally, the Champion, under Martin's guidance, slew Mankar Camoran, as the Imperial City came under a great Daedric siege. It appeared all was lost, but Martin shattered the Amulet of Kings in the Temple of the One tansforming into a huge, flaming avatar of Akatosh. In this form he defeated the manifestation of Mehrunes Dagon in an epic, glorious duel. This broke the siege of the Imperial City, restored the ward between Tamriel and Oblivion, and ended the Oblivion Crisis."  
None of them spoke for a while after Neremus had finished. It wasn't quite the version her grandfather had told her, but who knew what really happened 200 years ago? What would people say about her and Alduin after that much time? Would it sound just as simple? She assumed that neither Martin Septim nor the Campion would have thought that the biggest adventure of their lifes would be retold in a few glorified sentences.  
"What I am trying to say, is, that the followers of must aspire to be more than they are, to rise above their current place in the world and become something greater. In Martin's case, this meant rising from a humble priest to savior of the world – a little bit like your own tale, isn't it?"  
Muriel snorted into the silence of the chapel. "I think you're simplifying things... I'm no saint, that's not how it works. I had no choice – and maybe Martin Septim hadn't one either."  
Neremus smiled again in the forgiving manner from before when he got up and looked once again down on her. This time, Muriel didn't look away. "All I am is tired. Ever since I was thrown back to Nirn, I am tired."  
"You became something greater than most of us can ever dream of, Dragonborn. Just like Martin, you were chosen by the gods and it's only natural for our mortal bodies to become weary in their presence."  
Muriel nearly laughed out loud but bit her tongue at the last moment. Argueing with the priest wouldn't help anyone and he was just trying to be nice.  
"I never faced any god", she said quietly. "It's not like you think it is, none of them ever appeared to me or guided me or even sent me a bloody letter of advice."  
The priest crooked his head slightly at the biting tone in her voice, but he didn't comment.  
"I tried praying, you know? In the beginning I prayed daily. It took me five weeks to get from Whiterun to the Throat of the World because I prayed to Akatosh, prayed that he would help me, but he never answered. They nearly had to drag me up the Seven Thousand Steps." The words came out before she could hold them back. And before she knew she felt unable to stop talking. "He's suppose to be the father of all dragons, isn't he? Why didn't he help me?"  
"You're bitter, Dragonborn, I can see that", Neremus said gently. "I saw it the moment you came to Bruma for the first time. Is that why you stopped praying? Because the gods didn't answer? That happens to most of us."  
"Yes, but most people don't have to go against the World Eater, do they?"  
"Since we are able to be here and have this conversation, I assume, it all worked out in the end?", he said and Muriel felt a strong repulsive impulse in her throat. She shouldn't have started to discuss these matters with a priest, of all people a priest was the last one to understand what she was trying to say.  
"Not thanks to the divines I'm afraid", she said with more bite in her voice than she wanted to. But at this moment a small part of her wanted to throw something at Neremus' face while the rest of her mind knew that it wasn't his fault that the gods had disappointed her.

"They never cared. None of the divines." She gestured vaguely at the colourful images around them. "Instead Meridia spoke to me and she gave me a sword. Peryite answered and gave me a shield. Nocturnal is my shadow. Sheogorath answered, but well... I know he'd like to hear that he wasn't that useful."  
The Imperial looked at her with a sad look in his eyes. It should make her feel ashamed, but instead it only annoyed her. "Daedra worship is a dangerous path, Dragonborn. They are fickle."  
"I don't worship Daedra", Muriel said louder than she wanted. "I acknowledge their existence because they at least acknowledged mine. I needed help and they offered it."

_Unlike the divines._

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and held the priest's gaze stubbornly. "Who knows what Martin Septim had to do..."

"I see", Neremus nodded and the gentleness in his eyes was gone. "Now, if you excuse me, I must return to my duties. And I'm sure you have to return to yours as well."

Muriel stared at him for a moment. Under his expectant eyes, she finally got up and turned around to leave the cathedral. Maybe she had gone to far, no priest had ever thrown her out of a temple – even if it had happened in the most polite way, the message had been clear. With fast steps she left the Cathedral of and didn't turn around even though she felt the Imperial's eyes on her back. Resisting the urge to slam the doors shut behind her, she stomped down the stairs.

The sun didn't care about her bad mood as it nearly blinded her after the dimness of the temple and Muriel sighed deeply. It didn't help lightening her heart and before others could fall victim to her mood, she turned towards the market place. Maybe it was best to hide herself at the Restful Watchman for the rest of the day.

She walked through the crowded space between the stands. Even though the merchants offered their wares all week long, the people tended to visit the market more on days when fresh wares had arrived. All of Bruma seemed to be squished into the small square between the cathedral and the wall. More than once Muriel had to change direction because the place directly in front of the stands was just overcrowded.

She navigated around the well when someone called out her name. Muriel looked up and half-heartedly returned the wave of the Breton tailor. Two weeks ago she had bought a few additional pieces of clothing at his stand and from there on he had greeted her enthusiastically every time she walked past him. His eyes were always shying away from hers, but one evening at the inn, she had overheard him talking about how much he wanted to take her measurements and ever since, she had avoided going near his stand.

Looking to her right, she oversaw the huge figure that appeared in her path and stumbled backwards when she bumped into it. Her boot got caught on a cobblestone and she lost her balance. With a gasp the landed on her backside. She stared up at the Thalmor Adjutant who hadn't even moved, but only narrowed his amber eyes.

"Oh look, an infant. How quaint."

_Rude!_

Muriel felt someone grab her ellbow to pull her to her feet. Even standing she had to look up to the tall Altmer, who towered over the crowd surrounding them. He stood still, unmoving like a rock in the sea of the people around him. No one wanted to push past him and so the market's business left him completely uneffected.

"Watch your steps, Breton", he snapped. "Stumbling heros are a pathetic sight."  
"If you didn't strut around like you own the place, I wouldn't have to", Muriel said through clenched teeth. Her already bad mood wasn't helping with easing her nerves and the blood in her ears drowned out ever thought about turning around and ignoring him.

"Oh, but we practically do", he replied so condescendingly that for a moment, Muriel saw herself shouting him out of the way. The image faded quickly though when her mind added the people around her flying into all directions and so she settled for resting her hand on the hilt of her sword. Armion's adjutant followed her movement with amused eyes. "Don't try my patience, you will find that it is very limited, Breton."

Her hand became a fist and she felt a growl in her chest. "You are trying mine. Get out of my way."

The Thalmor began to laugh. It was mainly disbelief, but Muriel clearly heard the arrogance and over-confidence in it and her vision went red. Blindly she took a step forward, when a hand grabbed her arm and demanded her attention. Bentior stood behind her, his fingers around her arm, shaking his head with a stern expression.

The Adjutant's laugh grew louder. Alarmed by the uproar, the glooming figure of his superior appeared at their side. With sharp eyes he took the scene in and one annoyed look ceased his associate's laughter.

"I am sure there is a valid reason for this... encounter. Do I have to interrupt my patrol to break it up?", the Justiciar said with a warning seeping clearly though his words. To Muriel's surprise he didn't direct his question to her, but ignored her presence completely. Instead he focused on the other mer.

"No, Justiciar. A minor incident. We can continue our patrol anytime", the Adjutant answered after a pause and pulled his eyes away from her. The resistance in them made it clear how little he wanted to back down.

"Oh, really now, do you allow it?", Armion snarled and Muriel had never thought she would see the towering figure of his subordinate shrink. It was barely noticable, but it lifted her mood significantly. Without another word, the Justiciar turned around and disappeared in the crowd, not even checking if the other man was following him. He didn't have to – the Adjutant was directly behind him. Muriel snorted and finally relaxed her hand that was still clenched around her sword.

"He's such an..." She searched for the right insult to express her feelings, but failed.

"Just ignore him." Bentior let go of her arm. He shouldered the sack he had dropped on the ground and turned towards his inn. Muriel followed him until they reached the edge of the market.

"I can't ignore him, I literally bumped into him", she said and took the basket full of potatoes the innkeeper shoved into her hands without protest. He had probably guessed already that she had been on her way to the Watchman anyway.

"What I mean is", Bentior said with a frown. "Don't let him provoke you. That elf is just waiting for you to loose your temper."

A bitter laugh forced its way out of her mouth. "No shit. Divines help him if he ever does that when there are no witnesses..."

"Sounds like your day started really cheery, girl. Come on", he said and nodded towards his inn. "First drink's on the house."

"Since when are you giving out alms?", she asked as she followed behind.

"Since when are you so on edge that you pick a fight with the Thalmor in the middle of the city?", Bentior asked back and opened the door to let her in. "Put it on the counter."

Muriel left the basket where he had said and lowered herself on one of the chairs. She ran her hand through her hair until her fingers got stuck. With a sigh she gave up and watched the Imperial unpack the groceries.

"This is all getting to me, Bentior", she said and rested her head on her hand. The innkeeper grumbled to assure her he was listening. "This whole situation is just one big pile of mammoth dung. I don't know how it came to this and I don't know how I can get out. I just made one stupid decision after the other, mistake after mistake. That's not like me... I navigated myself right into a swamp and now I'm stuck. Gods dammit, I just wanted to steal a few artifacts... have some fun."

Muriel closed her eyes to fight back the throbbing headache behind them. The sound of a bottle placed on the counter in front of her made her smile. She buried her face in her hands and supressed a yawn. "Thanks..."

"I have something that will cheer you up." Bentior fished a package out from behind the counter and placed it in front of her.

"Is this...?" The brown paper was plain and gave nothing away about its content, but she knew what it held.

"Yes, Crouches brought it over from Greenwood this morning."

Muriel felt her mood rise. Quickly she unfolded the paper and smiled widely. She turned the small metal box in her hands. It was exactly how she had described it, not much larger than her hand and thick enough to protect the soft inside. The hinge opened without a sound and her finger stroke over the beeswax that filled both sides of the box up to the rim.

"I hope this is what you wanted", Bentior said and returned her smile.

"It is perfect", she said and carefully set the mold on the counter. "Thank you."  
"Everything to make my customers happy. Thank the Argonian, though. He's probably still trying to cool the bee stings in some snowpile. Tell me again how this works."

Muriel was well aware that the innkeeper only tried to distract her and appreciated the effort enough to play along. "You press the key into one half like this..." She placed her finger on the wax and showed him how the box would close around it. "...and then you close the other half on top of it..."

"And if it worked you have a mold from the key?" He looked sceptical. "What if the wax gets too warm inside your pocket?"

"Well, then I'm screwed", Muriel shrugged and took a sip from her ale. "But it's worth the try, don't you think? Better than alarming the Count because his key went missing. You are sure he is the only one having one?"  
"My contact at the castle said so, yes. At least for the treasury, but there should be a few keys for the display cases around. I still don't understand what you have against good, old lockpicking. This sounds risky – sneaking into the Count's bedroom?" Bentior furrowed his brows and watched as she carefully wrapped up the box again.

"Not as risky as trying to pick a difficult lock with the guard's routine leaving only a window of a few minutes. From what I saw that's as long as it takes for him to turn his back towards the door and walk down the hallway. The moment he turns back around, I have to be in", Muriel explained. In theory her plan sounded easy, but making a copy of the key to the treasury was one thing, actually sneaking into it another. Not to mention getting out with her loot. From now own she had to bury her own pride and actually make use of the gift Nocturnal had provided her with as well as every Invisibilty Potion she could find. The balance of her getting caught while sneaking had definitly suffered in the last weeks when the Justiciar had not only caught her once, but twice. It really had bruised her ego.

"I don't mind to be proven wrong, girl", Bentior winked at her. "But remember, if this goes wrong – I don't know you."

"Lovely to know I have your support", Muriel pouted, but laughed only a moment later. Bentior's position was completely relatable, but sometimes she forgot that she wasn't talking to a guild member. Maybe she should think about recruiting him.

"When will you do it?"

"Tomorrow. I have... you know, an _appointment_ tonight." She grimaced and emptied her bottle with a few huge gulps.

"Don't let those elfs provoke you", he warned. "Would be too bad if you went to prison because you were at each others throats again."

"Oh, don't worry. Right now it's mainly the large one I want to shout off a cliff." Muriel looked gloomingly into her empty bottle.

"There is always the option of leaving Bruma, you know... not that I don't like to have you here, especially since you've become nearly my best customer apart from Dumrag, but..." He left the rest of the sentence unspoken.

"I can't. He's got leverage."

"I see... That Altmer's a clever one – not that I admire that", Bentior quickly reassured her when her face darkened even more. "You want another bottle?"

"Definitely."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

Muriel followed the guard up the stairs, a way she had walked so often in the last two weeks, she could as well walk it on her own. But Count Carvain's study wasn't just in the Lords Manor, it was also close to his private quarters and – what she assumed was the main reason for the guards patrolling here all day – the treasury and therefore one of the conditions was that the guard on patrol accompanied them. The thick carpets muffled her steps, which was something she was normally very grateful for, but it also meant that she had to listen very carefully to hear the people around her. For example the annoying elf that normally followed close behind. But not this time – this time Armion wasn't anywhere around and according to the guard, he was waiting in the study for quite a while now. How long she had already waited in the entrance hall where the Count kept many of his artifacts behind the glass of display cases, she didn't know. But in the last weeks she had definitely stared at golden cups and Akaviri stone fragments for longer than she had liked and it had been a relief when this time Count Carvain himself showed up. The small detail that he made her be late and let the Thalmor wait even more for the sake of exchanging courtesies had at least taken the bad mood off of her for a few moments, but what was even more mood-lifting, was the letter he had given her. The courier had come back with news from Skyrim and when Muriel had quickly pocketed the letter from Riften and the Count had stopped talking about his cousin attending some wedding in Solitude, she could leave. She couldn't wait to read Brynjolf's response even if her pulse had uncomfortably sped up when she had seen the broke wax seal. It wasn't unexpected – and the fact that she wasn't in handcuffs yet gave hope for her friends sticking to her cryptic writing.

They reached the top of the stairs and following the guard's gesture, Muriel entered the last hallway. She tried to look indifferent as she walked, but her eyes kept trying to get a peek into the next hall which she assumed led to the private quarters. There was another thing that now occupied her mind and it had nearly slipped her attention when the Count had mentioned it. When she had congratulated him on his collection, he had told with a sigh her how infrequently he actually visited this part of the castle.

Muriel opened the door to the study. When the Count didn't take the same path as her, how did he get to the throne room? Was there another – one that bypassed the staircase and therefore the guards?

Armion was reading through his notebook when she entered, her mind still occupied with what she had heard. Ignoring him she let herself fall on the same uncomfortable wooden chair she had always sat on in the last two weeks.

"You're late", he said pointedly without looking up.

"How are you today? Oh, I'm fine, thank you." She put on a fake smile and rested her feet on the table. "How was your day? How nice of you to ask! It was wonderful, I especially enjoyed the market today."

He finally looked up from his notes, a deep frown creasing his normally even forehead. "Are you drunk? I think I made myself rather clear that..."  
"No", she interrupted him. For some reason his mere presence let her anger come back. "I'm not. I was, but unfortunately not anymore."  
Armion's face was somewhere between annoyance and the look some mage's got when witnessing the scene of a disaster – the look that said 'This is going to be interesting'. "You might as well consider skooma at this point", he said cooly. "I'm surprised you're not addicted to that poison already, since you're so susceptible."

Muriel dragged her legs from the table top and noisily pushed her chair back as she stood up. For a second she thought about pulling him across the table, but even through her anger she knew that that would be a bad idea and so she turned around to leave the study.

"Sit back down." Armion's order was sharp and spoken like he was used to this tone, not accepting any objection. "You agreed to do this the civil way. Most thieves don't get away this easy, so live with the consequences and by Xarxes, stop this tantrum."

"You call the last two weeks civil?!" She turned to see that he hadn't moved from his chair, even the quill was still in his hand. Just his eyes had hardened and warned her not to test him. She nearly laughed. What did this presumptuous elf know about consequences she was living with?

"No", he admitted after a few moments of silence. "I agree that there's some potential for improvement, but..." Muriel snorted, but he ignored her and raised his voice slightly. "But this is unacceptable."

"You're right. It is", she pressed out. " But you and your thug can't keep poking me and expect me to endure it silently just because of some stupid amulet."

Armion raised an eyebrow. "Your lack of self-restrain is neither his nor my problem."

"I know you want this to be beneficial for you", she continued through clenched teeth. "And I agreed to it, but not like this. If we keep going like this, the Count will soon find a hole in the wall of his study and you'll find out what's on the other side of it."

His other eyebrow joined the first one, but the interested look in his eyes remained. Muriel sighed deeply. It felt good to say what was nagging at her nerves for days now. She had actually feared that she might loose her temper around the Thalmor, not really afraid to hurt him – because he would've brought it upon himself – but that she'd let her anger control her actions. It was something the Greybeards had warned her about, not to allow herself to be eaten up by anger and the hunger for power. Even with the best intention, she could easily hurt people. Alduin had never woken these feelings in her, because all the time her mind had been occupied with the World Eater, he had been the best example of everything she didn't want to be. The fact that in only a few weeks some elves had managed to bring her close enough to this edge to actually feel the pull, frightened her.

"Though I have to admit that it is tempting to see you loose your composure, I might be willing to make a few concessions - if you sit down, Muriel." The Justiciar pointed towards her abondoned chair, but at least it didn't sound like an order this time and the fact that he – for the first time ever as far as she recalled – had used her name, had the intended effect of taking the wind out of her sails. At least he took her warning seriously. Muriel closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before sitting down again.

_One last chance_, she told herself, _just one last chance, you can shout him through the wall tomorrow._

He had said nothing about his adjutant and the chances were faint that he would order him, but if Armion backed down a little bit, maybe she could endure the other Altmer's spiteful comments a little bit easier.

"Let's talk about your participation in Skyrim's Civil War." He returned to his notes like nothing had happened and even though it could be considered rude, she knew that he tried to calm the situation with a fresh start without backing down too much. She was surprised that she actually appreciated the gesture.

"Why did you join the Imperial Legion?"

"Because", Muriel took another deep breath. "Tullius was pressing me to do so. His letter's arrived nearly daily, he was obsessed with the idea. Not so much with me actually fighting, but with the boost of morale for his troops. In the end I gave in and did both. I was on the walls when we defended Whiterun and I fought in most of the Holds myself. I don't know how much of a difference it actually made, many people died in that war nevertheless..."

"Every war has casualties", the Thalmor threw in and with repulsion Muriel watched him write down notes.

"Like the war between the Empire and the Dominion?"

"For example", he looked up and slightly crooked his head. Muriel had to bite her lip to remind herself that she was trying to stay calm. She had heard – and seen – what the Aldmeri Dominion considered casualties. It weren't soldiers fighting on each side, soldiers who knew what they were doing, but villagers, farmers and yes, also Talos worshipers, but civilians nevertheless. At least the Civil War hadn't claimed that many innocent lifes.

"Don't you feel guilty for persecuting people because of their beliefs?" The question left her lips on its own accord. Armion ceased his writing and leaned back in his chair. He didn't try to urge her to stay on topic, it hadn't worked in the last weeks and it wouldn't work now. Every time he had tried, Muriel had ignored him, sometimes for the simple reason of messing with his set schedule.

"Guilt? Why should I feel guilt?", he frowned. "You won't make me feel guilty for enforcing dictates your own Emperor signed into law. I am a Thalmor Justiciar, yes, but the Aldmeri Dominion is not a single consciousness. This Empire is a political entity – it has commited untold acts of persecution and genocide in the past. One need only have a cursory knowledge of the Tiber Wars and Imperial history to know this to be true. Tiber Septim – the man-god so many Nords and Imperials love to revere – was himself guilty of the sins you attribute solely to the Dominion."

Muriel returned his frown with crossed arms. "So you're saying that it's okay because everyone does it?"

"You're a hypocrite, Dragonborn", he stated and ignored her question. "You as well aren't free of sin, even if you like to act like it. You think laws don't apply to you if they don't align with you're selfish goals. Just take the fact about you freely taking what doesn't belong to you and you'll see my point."

"At least I'm not randomly killing people under the excuse of politics", she growled. She already knew that her being a thief and the Dragonborn didn't work very well together, but there was a difference between taking someone's coin purse and hanging Talos worshipers and Stormcloaks alike.

"Of course you do. You willingly accepted the death of others, innocents and prisoners alike, if it served your purpose."  
"What the... that's not true, how can you say that? I would never." The audacity of this man was unbelievable. Like she ever would...

"But you already did", Armion said with a cold smile and pulled her dossier closer towards him. Like he was searching for a certain paragraph, his gaze wandered over the paper. "Remember when you negotiated a truce between the Empire and the Stormcloaks? You decided to give Markarth to the Stormcloaks."

"I... yes, I did. I needed them to agree or Jarl Balgruuf would never have helped me. Whiterun's assistance was essential", she said slowly, not sure what he was getting at. "They assured me that the Jarl and his court could leave in peace. I know they kept their word, I met Igmund in Solitude."

"I'm sure they did. However... their word did not include Markarth's Thalmor Justiciar, did it? He wasn't allowed to leave in peace."

Muriel stared at him. She had never thought about it, but she remembered the Altmer in Understone Keep, pacing back and forth in front of the throne room. Only once she had spoken to him and it had been one too many times.

"I..." She didn't know what to reply.

"It was your decision that sealed his fate", Armion said, keeping the dossier ready, but following her every reaction carefully. "He was executed shortly after the Stormcloaks had taken control over the city. To this day his remains have not been returned to Alinor."  
A part of her tried to argue that Ondolemar hadn't exactly been an innocent bystander, that he couldn't be considered a victim, but she couldn't bring her tongue to form the words when another part of her wondered if there was a family somewhere waiting to burn and bury his remains. Her mouth was dry.

"I don't have all the details", Armion took it further with a cool, satisfied look in his eyes. "But I assume they hanged him – I heard there are many stairs in Markarth. On the other hand – Nords prefer beheadings, don't they?"

He filled his quill with ink and wrote a few paragraphs while Muriel could do nothing than watch him. His question was just rhetorical, but even if it hadn't been, she couldn't answer. Somehow the images and possibilities how the Justiciar might've met his end, made her sick. It had been her decision in a way, yes, and for what? They had taken the Reach back a few month later anyway, giving up the city to appease Ulfric Stormcloak had only been convenient at the time. It had been nothing more than changing a flag on the map. She pulled her sleeves over her hands. Suddenly she felt cold, freezing from within for the study was still comfortably warm.

"I...", she said when the silence grew to loud in her ears. She felt miserable. "I haven't thought about it, I didn't know... I'm... I'm sorry. I don't know who thought that I was in any way capable of making political decisions..."

The Altmer looked up from his paper and watched her sharply for a long moment like he was trying to find the mockery behind her words. Then he nodded shortly.

"It's how the world works", he said. It would be the only words of comfort she would get and was surprised that he even offered those. Muriel turned her head and stared into the flames of the candles. It wasn't how the world worked, it was how war worked. Especially how the Great War had worked from what she had heard. A war she didn't want to be a part of, a war that was officially over, but was still carried on in the shadows.

"Why choose the Empire over the Stormcloaks?", Armion asked into the silence to get the conversation back on track. Muriel shot him a look of disbelief. "From what I heard, you're quite fond of Nords. You'd almost think you would be a supporter of the idea."

"I am, in a way", she agreed quietly. "But in another, Ulfric was nearly as bad as you."  
He raised an eyebrow questioningly and Muriel sighed. She pressed two fingers against her temples to gather her thoughts. "I just think... I'm so tired of everyone hating each other's guts. The Nords don't let the Khajiit into their cities, Windhelm and the Stormcloaks basically had a slum for Dunmer and the Argonians are only tolerated at the docks. Which is probably not so bad, considering that those two can't even be in the same room in most cases. Nearly everyone seems to dislike Orcs and vice versa and don't get me started on Altmer... "

Her voice had risen towards the end and Muriel had to close her eyes for a moment to take a few breaths that would bring her down. "What I mean is... the Empire is the only thing that keeps some sort of peace. And besides...", she added silently. "The Empire is already weakened. Tullius was right about that... it is what's keeping the Aldmeri Dominion out for now, isn't it?"

Armion looked at her thoughtfully for a long time. His expression gave nothing away, but Muriel knew that she had just given him something to write about. She didn't care if they knew about her insight. Maybe just the hint of the Legion knowing more about the Thalmor's plans was enough to keep this labile peace going. Even if she hadn't bothered to involve herself in these matters too much, people tend to talk to her about a lot of things. This and a few documents that had fallen into her hands in the last few years, gave her at least the idea that both sides knew a lot more than they said anyway.

"Seems like you are fully capable of making political decisions", the Altmer said and scribbled down a few words. "But not everyone is willing to let go of the past only because your uneducated upbringing taught you nothing about history."

"My upbringing is the best example", Muriel snorted. "I wouldn't be here if everyone thought like this."

"And as the heroic Breton that you are, everyone needs to follow along?", Armion sneered.

"You can mock me as much as you like", she said. "But I did defeat Alduin for all of Tamriel. I often wonder if it was even worth it, though, just so that everyone can continue their stupid wars, so... show a little graditude."

"Oh I am endlessly grateful for your commitment. But you didn't change history – you preserved it", he said stubbornly.

Muriel tilted her head back in frustration. He didn't get it, he never would. She wasn't even sure why it mattered, maybe because she had never had a conversation with someone with his attitude for longer than needed. Most of the times she had simply avoided people she didn't agree with. No chance to avoid this, it seemed.

"Explain it", she bit. "Pretend I'm stupid – oh spare me that look – and explain. People always think things that happened ages ago are a good enough excuse."

Armion leaned back and crossed is arms in front of his chest. For a while he just looked at her, amusement and annoyance alternating in his eyes like he wasn't sure if he was willing to have this discussion that would lead them so far away from the initial topic.

"We Altmer have a long memory. While the rest of Tamriel forgets, we remember. Like the Scribe we remember every deed, every deceit. We document them, file them, but we never forget", he finally said. Muriel unintentionally looked down to the dossier in front of him, filled with fine writing and, once finished, ready to be used or stored. She had the weird feeling like someone had told her that before.

"Okay, but the Tiber Wars were – what? Thousands of years ago? You can't seriously still be mad about that." Despite what he thought, she had actually opened a history book before. It had only been a few weeks ago and only because it had been lying in front of the inn's fireplace, but still.

"The praising of Tiber Septim's invasion is an insult, the mere thought of him ascending to godhood herecy." His green eyes shone darkly in the dancing light of the candles and for a moment she couldn't look away.

"Yes, I get it – you don't agree", she said and tore her eyes away. "And you got what you wanted, didn't you? The Concordat forbids Talos worship. But like I said, that was so long ago..."

"Men are always quick to forget as their generations hurry through the centuries, but for us? What are a few thousand years in meri terms? Little more than a few generations."  
Muriel knew of course about the longevity of the elven races, but she had never thought much about it. They lived longer, so what? In the end it all came down whether to forgive or not.

"I don't think I understand what you're trying to say", she said slowly and frowned. "What has that to do with it?"

"I didn't expect you to understand", the elf said with an arrogant sneer on his face. "And even if it's not my duty to make you, maybe an example will make things clearer... We mer live three, sometimes more lifetimes longer than any man. I walked underneath this sun years before your grandparents would blink to its shine, I studied the secrets of magic during the lifetime of your parents, I dedicated myself to this course long before you were even born and should your children some day start to harass Nirn – Auri-El preserve us – I will outlive them, too."

_You won't if you keep talking like that..._

"How old are you exactly?", she asked before her thoughts found the way out of her mouth.

Armion simply smiled and didn't answer.

"Alright, suit yourself. But I think I know what you're trying to say – I do, don't look at me like I'm an idiot. My problem is that you think that makes mer so much better than men. Something tells me that age doesn't equal wisdom and it definitely doesn't justify... this. For someone who claims to be superior, you don't act like it at all."

The smile on his face widened, but it remained cold and didn't reach his eyes. "We don't _claim_ to be superior."

"Well, then explain it. What makes your race so much better than mine?" She wanted to throw the inkwell into his face, but that would be a little excessive. This discussion wouldn't lead anywhere, but somehow she couldn't stop, it was nearly interesting. Not necessarily in a good way, though.

"I don't need to give you any explanation, Muriel."

"Why? Because you don't have one?", Muriel grinned and his face darkened. Even with Elenwen she had thought that these people could be so much prettier if they didn't frown all the time. She hadn't expected him to be provoked this easily.

"My people have walked Tamriel long before men, but we aren't simply the oldest race, we are by far the most sophisticated."  
For a second she had a vision of Paarthunaxx joining this conversation. She wondered what he might have to say about the matter of old races. Maybe she should ask him one day...

"It does sound like you had to memorize that as a child", Muriel said with a mocking tone, but was surprised to see the Altmer's face harden, his jar clenched and his mouth pressing in a tight line. "Wait... did you?"

He ignored her question. "Every little culture you have is nothing more than a shallow imitation of ours."  
"And as soon as men are starting to develop one, you ban it." His face told her that she should stop, but she couldn't. For the first time it felt like she was actually leading the conversation, like the Altmer was slowly pushing back in a fight she wasn't aware they were having. Not with swords or spells, but with words.

"Worshipping a false god is _not_ cultural development", he snapped. "Every child knows that."  
"Every child in Alinor, you mean." The strangest thing she had ever seen in this room happened: The Thalmor shirked from her look – just for a second, but she had seen it nevertheless. Suddenly Muriel was wide awake, her pulse speeding up like she was about to sneak into a dragon's lair.

"How many times did they make you repeat it until it sounded like the truth?", she asked quietly.

His mouth opened and closed again like he tried to swallow the answer back down. If it had been an insult or a number, she wasn't sure. "We will take our rightful place in Auri-El's glow when we die, and while we live we will take our rightful place above every inferior race...", he said stubbornly and held his chin high. The insecurity was gone from his face, but for Muriel it was impossible to just led it slide. She had seen it, she was sure of it!

"If you couldn't say it by heart, what did they do?", she tried again, but his cold gaze drilled into her eyes, with open hostility and an unspoken threat. She was far too busy searching his eyes for the thing she had thought she'd seen to shy away from him.

"I don't need to convince you, Dragonborn", Armion said sharply, switching back to the title he had used since they had met in front of the cathedral. Firmly he closed the file on the table. "I don't owe you any explanation."

Muriel watched him cork the inkwell. "You're right, Armion", she said. "You don't. But you are trying to convince someone here..."

The file wandered into his pocket as he pushed his chair back and rose. "This conversation is over."

Muriel only managed to open her mouth for a response when the Altmer had already passed her and stormed out the door. With her mouth open all she could do was to stare after him.

* * *

_A/N: Are you already getting tired of dialogue? I'm sorry, but as long as these two keep talking inside my head, I have to write it down. I have so many pages of raw dialogue that I have to sort out and try to include (or not). But no worries, the next chapter will have less and after that we will leave Bruma for a little while. _

_Furthermore I posted the beginning of a new story, it's called "The Smell of Juniper". It's basically finished and since my messages to the support are being ignored, I thought I might as well start posting it without the character tag I've waited for for months... So if you're getting bored, consider checking it out :)_


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_Thanks for your review, FablePsycho. I'm glad you think it's realistic because that's what I'm aiming at._

* * *

Fourteen

It would only take a few more times and sneaking into Castle Bruma in the middle of the night would become a natural thing to her. Muriel smiled to herself as she hid behind one of the stone pillars. The guards in front of the throne room should soon leave their posts to return to the barracks and then she had a few minutes before the night shift would take their place. She had noticed this fatal mistake in planning of the shift change a few days ago. Instead of waiting for their colleagues, the guards had a habit of walking back to the barracks prematurely and left their posts unattended. Maybe the lack of incidents had made them inattentive, but it was surely something that had played into Atienne Guilette's hands as well. From what she had heard, the other thief had been caught by now and therefore all the guards had gone back to their normal routine. Muriel was sure that the Captain of the Guard knew nothing about the negligence of his troops.

When the guards left, yawning and chatting in silent voices, she left her hiding place, scurried through the hall and the throne room behind it towards the dining area. The dimly lit room was as expected empty, the long tables already cleaned and laid for breakfast, but it would still be a few hours before the servants returned and the guards only patrolled this room when the Count had to be protected during his meals – probably mostly from his dinner guests.

She crossed the room and pressed her ear against the only door. It led to the service hall and ultimately to any part of the castle that needed the servant's attention. By now, even them should be asleep. When the Count had mentioned his shortcut it had struck her. There had do be a way into his quarters from here, a way where the servants – and ultimately her – could enter the Lord's Manor unobserved. It hadn't been long until what had been nothing more than an idea, had formed into her current plan.

Muriel let the door shut silently behind her and walked on. There were many door leading away from here, but with the excuse of searching for the kitchen, she had already checked them. Her destination was the one on top of the stairs, the only one that led to the secluded private area which she knew wasn't far from the study. From what she had seen from the other side, there were two guards on patrol, but maybe there would be more if the Count was actually in his quarters? He had two more following him around all day after all...

Carefully she climbed the stairs, pressed her eyes shut to concentrate and only opened them when bright dots began to dance behind her lids. Yesterday's meeting with Armion had drained her. Not only because of the topic, but also the abrupt end had left an aftertaste. Most of the previous night her mind had returned to what had been said and for once the tossing and turning keeping her awake had little to do with the usual reason. But she was used to function on a few hours of rest, no reason to reschedule tonight's task.

She pulled one of the two small bottle from her pocket and uncorked it. Without hesitation she swallowed the potion and immediately felt the cool tingling sensation of her body turning invisible. It wouldn't last long – the alchemist had assured her that the potion's duration should be about fifty seconds. Once she was inside the bedroom, the first thing she needed was a safe place for when the effect wore off.

Muriel opened the door carefully and held her breath when she spotted one of the guards standing a few meters away, his back towards her. She pushed through the gab and let her eyes scan the room. To her right was a secluded area and with a silent roll she flung herself behind the wall. The huge table behind it was completely laid even if Count Carvain took all of his meals in the dining area on the lower floor. Was this were his family was suppose to dine? She had never seen anyone apart from his brother, but she recalled him mentioning a cousin who had travelled to Solitude recently. Whether or not said cousin lived at the castle normally as well, she didn't know. Keeping everything ready, like he waited for family, wife and children to magically appear – it was somehow sad and for a few moments, Muriel allowed herself to pity the man.

Sneaking along the walls that secluded the dining table from the rest of the room, she saw her feet reappear. With furrowed brows, she watched the rest of her body follow. That Bosmer alchemist owed her a refund – that had never been fifty seconds! She had only one potion left and she definitely needed it for her retreat. Besides, who knew how long the second one would last. From experience she knew that Invisibility Potions had the tendency to loose their effect the very moment one had their hand in a stranger's pocket which was why many thieves didn't rely on them in the first place.

Carefully, she walked past a small table with silver cups and hid behind a pillar. From where she stood, she could see the hallway leading towards the study on one side and on the other the elaborated bed with the Count's figure somewhere between the sheets. How someone could sleep this peacefully while there were guards patrolling in the same room, she would never understand. Even in the Thieves Guild Cistern it was difficult for her to find rest with too many eyes watching. But Count Carvain had to be so used to his shadows, that they didn't bother him.

Muriel shot a quick glance towards the guard in the room, but his attention was focussed on the hallway where a woman in the golden uniform approached. From what she knew from being on the other side of said hallway, this one was also guarding the treasury and with relief, she realized that there weren't more than these two around. Probably another one at the entrance to the Lords Manor like usual, but apparently even the Count didn't want the two others that followed him around the castle all day around him at night. Muriel had hoped for this, had counted on the fact that four guards were too many even for nobility. With a slight smile, she turned her attention back to the bed and scanned the room for the key. Her best guess was the wardrobe where the Count had assumingly left his clothes from the day before or the chest at the end of the bed. It was unlikely that the Count carried the key on his person even at night. Hopefully.

There was still the issue with the guards. At least the one standing in the room would spot her easily if she went straight for the bed. She needed a distraction and with a grin an idea blossomed in her head. Carefully she aimed at the hallway.

"Zul Mey Gut!" Her voice was little more than a whisper and she felt the force of her Thu'um travel down the hallway.

"Hey, slug-breath!" Muriel bit back a laugh when she heard her voice from the other side of the hallway. It echoed enough to mask that it was hers, especially if someone didn't know her. The guard's hand wandered to his sword in confusion. She saw him look over to the sleeping Count, but the man hadn't moved. Again she mouthed the Shout, directing her voice past the alerted guard.

"Hey, cheese brain!"

He walked towards the hallway, meeting the equally confused woman half-way.

"What did you say?", he whispered. "Do you want to wake up Count Carvain?"

"I didn't say anything", the woman hissed back.

"Oh don't play dumb, Senarel. I heard you."

"I'm not dumb, you are. I didn't say a word."

"You think you can get away with everything, don't you?"

"What?"

"Yeah, you heard me. But me and the others are tired of you and your stupid lineage!"

"I have every right to..." Her voice lowered even more until the whispered words didn't reach Muriel's ears anymore.

"...just here because..."

"How dare you!"

The guards voices continued to argue, but she returned her concentration towards the chest. This should take a moment, it was now or never. With a last glance at the corridor, Muriel slipped out of her hiding place. She reached the chest with two steps and her heart started to speed up as she found it unlocked. Slowly and with great care she lifted the lid. The hinges creaked slightly, but a quick glance at the Count's feet reassured her that he was still sleeping. Holding the lid up with one hand, the other searched through its content. There were scrolls and jewelry, quills and for some reason an Amulet of Kynareth – Muriel raised her eyebrows. _Increasing stamina, eh?_ \- but no key. Just once she'd like to find something on the first try. But as Brynjolf liked to say, there was no such thing as an easy job.

Muriel let the chest close, carefully setting the lid back down without making a sound. She crooked her head and listened into the hallway. The guards still seemed to be argueing, even though she couldn't make out words anymore, the whispers were still there. Good, those fools gave her all the time she needed. A few crouched steps and she was in front of the wardrobe. Doors or drawers? Muriel's eyes wandered over the wooden surface.

_If you were the Count, where would you put your worn clothes, where the fresh?_

Not folded in the drawers. No one had ever seen a Count sitting on his throne with wrinkles on his fine robes. The doors opened silently and for a second her courage left her. That were awfully many clothes. Why on Nirn did one person need that many clothes? Muriel tried to remember what the Count had worn today. Something... purple? She wasn't sure, but let her hands run through the pockets of the purple robes nevertheless.

It was the third garment she searched, when her fingers closed around a long piece of metal. With a grin she pulled the key from the pocket and hoped that the Count hadn't the habit of carrying around keys of any given door of the castle. Her left hand reached to her belt and freed the mold from the pouch there. Steps came down the hallways.

"Can we help you?"

Muriel froze. It took a long, terrifying moment until she realized that the question wasn't directed at her, the guard hadn't returned to the room and she hadn't been discovered. The steps turned and walked back down the hallway. A small sigh of relief escaped her and she opened the small metal box to finish what she had come for.

"I need to... retrieve something from the study. A small notebook, I left it there yesterday." Muriel froze again and her eyes grew wide. Was that elf following her? She quickly pushed the key into the wax and unceremoniously pressed the two halfs together.

"And that couldn't wait until tomorrow?", the female guard asked. She sounded alarmed – with good reason, as Muriel thought. It was way past midnight. "Surely you aren't working this late?"

Muriel could almost see the look in the Justiciar's eyes before he answered.

"Not that it is of any business to you, but my working hours never end. So if you just let me into the study, I am a busy man."

"It is my business when you just strut into Count Carvain's quarters at this time, Justiciar."

"Speaking of which, the Count is kind of sleeping right down the corridor", the male guard interrupted them with a hiss. "So, could we keep our voices down?"

Muriel opened the mold and carefully peeled the key from the wax. Her heart was pounding loudly inside her chest. Blood pumped through her veins at such a high speed, it nearly drowned out the conversation and made it crystal clear at the same time. She didn't need to focus on her hands, instinct seemed to guide her fingers. Silently the mold found its place again at her belt while the key wandered back into the pocket she had pulled it from. There was no need to doublecheck if it was the right one. The doors of the wardrobe closed without a sound while the Count slept through all of what was going on in his quarters.

She was about to turn around when her gaze fell on the windowsill and she noticed the bottle. A mischievous idea stroke her. It looked old and expensive and, even if Muriel was anything but an expert, like the right wine to celebrate a successful robbery with. It took only a second to tie it to her belt as well before she sneaked away.

"I am sure Count Carvain wants to be informed before you enter his study", the guard stood her ground.

Before her inner eye, Muriel saw the Thalmor raise his eyebrows. "Then go ahead, wake him up. I am sure he will be thrilled. I am solely here to get my belongings back."  
"The Count surely has questions when he hears that you're sneaking around the Lords Manor at night."

The pillar was just within reach, when Muriel couldn't help herself and glanced into the hallway.

"How dare you, I am _not_ sneaking around." Armion towered over the guards. "I am merely..."

His voice came to an abrupt halt when his gaze travelled past the guards. Muriel felt her heart drop when they locked eyes.

_Shit._

The seconds stretched while neither of them reacted. For the first time she could see that she had actually left the Altmer speechless.

_Move! Do something!_

Her inner voice screamed at her and with great effort she forced her muscles to contract. Her eyes broke away from his and she took a step towards the pillar. Her chances of getting away had just shrunk to virtually zero and without a second thought she called out for the Night Mistress.

_Shadows hide me._

"You what?", the male guard asked, confusion about the Justiciar's sudden silence written all over his face. Muriel sent one last look to the three, met the Thalmor's eyes briefly and let her the shadows take her body as she became an Agent of Stealth just before the guard turned around to follow Armion's gaze. There was nothing left to see.

"Nothing...", the elf answered slowly. "I... just a trick of the light. I will get the book tomorrow..."

Muriel had already reached the other side of the room when she heard him turn around and disappear with quick steps. Silently she slipped through the door.

* * *

He had already known and experienced first hand how bold the Dragonborn could be, but this was a new level. No matter what he had told the guards, he had seen her in the Count's bedroom. Her eyes had met his and she had held his gaze like she'd dared him to say something, to give away her position. She had surprised him, even if Armion didn't like to admit it. And when he had been able to speak again, it had been too late and she had disappeared. How had she done it? According to the information he had, the Dragonborn wasn't capable of casting an illusion spell that required expert level and there hadn't been any visible potion bottle. Maybe he had to go over his notes again, maybe he had missed something she had already mentioned – an ability, an artifact, something that allowed her too become invisible by will.

With fast steps he hurried down the stairs. He could run, but running always felt like loosing control. And he didn't, no, he never did. He hadn't expected to see her there when he had decided to reclaim his book before a nosy servant would find it while cleaning the study. The guard at the bottom looked startled to see him come down from the Lords Manor, but Armion didn't stop. It wasn't his problem that the man lacked discipline and hadn't seen him go up.

There were two ways she could take to get out of the castle and both of them led through the hallways the castle's servants took. The Dragonborn was clever enough to assume that he'd try to intercept her, but she had to make a decision – take the shorter way through the throne room to get away fast or the longer one through the Guest Wing that would lead her right past his quarters. She probably thought that he would think she'd take the fast way. Without hesitation Armion entered the Guest Wing. That woman wouldn't outsmart him, not when yesterday hadn't exactly been his most shining moment. He owed himself this much. Yesterday he had rushed out of the conversation in blind anger and it was only hours later that he had realized how much it must've looked like fleeing. He hadn't fled, why would he? Armion clenched his teeth and fastened his steps even more.

He was half way through the corridor when he heard the explosion. It was even louder in the nightly silence and surely even the inhabitants on the other side of the castle could feel the shaking of the walls that came with it. With his heart drumming in his ears, he ran towards the source of it. He knew exactly what had caused it. Steps behind him announced the patrolling guards trying to find out what had happened and together they sped down the hallway. Before he reached the last corner, Armion was sure to hear a soft laugh and when he finally reached the Thalmor's quarters, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him.

The last flames of the magical fire were already dying, but the smell of burning fabric and wood lingered. His door hung at a weird angle, one hinge seemed to be broken. It was half-open, revealing the chaos inside. Flakes of ash floated through the air, books scattered over so the floor when the blast of the exploding fire rune had knocked the bookshelf over and slowly smoldering paper rolls covered most of the carpet. His eyes fell down at a small flame, licking a hole into the carpet and he quickly smothered it with his boot. A door behind him opened and a moment later his subordinate appeared at his side, followed shortly by the Captain of the Guard. While Adius Vilius looked pale and shocked, the Adjutant, crumbs of pie still on his gloves, avoided Armion's eyes as they darkened. The other Altmer couldn't have picked a worse moment to go for a midnight snack than this.

"What happened?", Vilius broke the silence in which all of them had just stared towards the sooty door. Armion didn't answer and instead pulled the door open, carefully avoiding any metal pieces. He stepped into his ravaged room and lifted the two remaining fire runes with a flick of his wrist. With a sinister look he took everything in. The empty paper roles that he had stored near the door were only piles of ash now, but fortunately anything further out of the explosion's radius seemed to be unharmed.

The Captain of the Guard entered behind him. "Gods...", he muttered before regaining a professional tone. "Anything missing?"

Armion frowned. Like he could tell from the brief look he had. He ignored the Imperial's question and stepped towards the table where something had caught his eyes. Not only seemed the bottle out of place in all this chaos, he was also very sure that it hadn't been in his room when he had left it. He picked it up to free the small paper underneath and unfolded it. The message was hastily scribbled by an unsteady hand not used to writing, but as short as it was, the words seemed to burn on the paper.

_You work too much._


	15. Chapter Fifteen

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_My muse seems to be asleep at the moment and I find it difficult to write new stuff, but luckily the next three to four chapters are already finished. Well, mostly. There's a lot of editing that needs to be done and I'm a procrastinator, so your reviews are more welcome than ever!_

_Jfrost22792, thank you very much. So glad you enjoy it! The Thalmor aren't easy to sympathize with, but I'm trying :)_

* * *

Fifteen

"What's going on?", Muriel asked and watched the guards trying to fit the bedframe through the door. The men tried another angle and pushed with all their strength until the creaking of wood against stone announced that the bed was wedged. Rignar turned away from the scene with a pained expression.

"Renovation of the Justiciar's quarters", he said and threw a wary glance to the two Thalmor standing in the other corner of the hallway from where they observed the guards' struggles.

"Why?" She kept her voice as innocent as possible, but felt the piercing eyes of the elves on her back. No one had stepped into her way when she had left the inn this morning, half-expecting a guard to stop her. With no real evidence at hand, Armion hadn't informed the Captain of the Guard, but the menacing look he had given her when she had entered the castle this morning, told her that her message had been found and if the blazing golden shimmer in his green eyes gave anything away, he thought about torching her.

"Fire rune", the Steward said with his thunderous voice. "Apparently not placed in vain since an intruder set it off. I'm just glad Castle Bruma is made of stone..."

Muriel bit back a smile. She had seen Armion's rune at the door right away, probably cast every day after the night she had broken in and he had caught her. Letting it explode had been the most satisfying thing she had done in a while. She had wanted the Thalmor to feel the effect, but now it seemed that everyone at the castle had to deal with it while the elves just leaned back. Muriel threw a glance over her shoulder. They didn't even look tired even though she was sure the night had been sleepless for all of them.

"Damn mages...", Rignar mumbled under his breath before returning to his normal volume. "Now the guards are busy moving furniture. Captain Vilius isn't happy – and to be honest neither am I."

"Sorry to hear that", she said to silence her concience. "Is there anything I can help with?"

The Nord's moustache quivered as he exhaled. "Under no circumstances", he said with a strict voice. "We already have half the guard tasked with this and while it isn't their actual duty, it's yours even less, Dragonborn. Bruma is honored to have you as a guest."

Muriel laughed. "I could do guard duty then."

"It is generous of you to offer, but there are still enough men left. But maybe..." He broke off.

"What?"

"There is a goblin's lair some of the men were suppose to take care of today", Rignar said after a pause. "But it's too much to ask."

"No, it isn't", she said. "I haven't seen much of your beautiful county thus far, this sounds perfect."

And it would give her a chance to flee the city for a while. Maybe she had taken things too far and some time for everything to cool off again didn't sound so bad.

His face lit up and he nodded so quickly that his former protest faded into a polite lie. "Excellent! You there – make sure the Dragonborn gets a detailed map of the county and the bounty contract for Silver Tooth Cave."

The young guard let go of the bed which caused the others to curse loudly and hurried towards the barracks. Muriel returned to the entrance hall. Right now she had nothing else to do anyway, Crouches-In-Crevices had taken the mold to a locksmith and out of town. Trying to convince Hulgard to forge the key would only lead to more questions than she was willing to answer and it would potenially put the blacksmith in danger.

She didn't have to wait long before the guard returned with a rolled parchment that he handed her.

"I marked the cave for you", he said eagerly and smiled proudly. His face peeking out under the helmet was beaming.

"Thank you, that's very considerate...", she muttered absently with her eyes already on the map. It took the young guard a few moments to realize that he'd been dismissed and he hurried back to aid his comrades. Muriel searched for the marking he had mentioned and found it on the edge of a mountain close to what appears to be a big lake. Foothills seemed to be between the city and her destination and she had to either get around them or find a way over the mountains. Her brows furrowed. Both options would take at least a day. She was about to study the way through the valleys when a voice she had heard too much in the last days interrupted her thoughts.

"So it's true, criminals always return to the scene of crime." She looked up to see Armion walking towards her, his adjutant waiting near the entrance gate. Behind them the guards finally pushed the bedframe through the door and now sure that he had a place to sleep, the elf seemed ready to begin his patrol. With a smile she pocketed the bounty contract.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

His eyes narrowed. "Do you take me for a fool, Dragonborn?"

There were many unflattering characteristics Muriel attributed to members of the Thalmor, but foolishness wasn't one of them. Quite the opposite – which didn't make dealing with them any easier or less dangerous. In a way yesterday's spontaneous and admittedly impulsive break-in had been like playing with more fire than the flames from the rune. Muriel couldn't help it, his response to her words two nights ago was still in her mind and even though she had just told him off for the very same reason, the urge to provoke him was there. She needed to see whether it had just been her imagination or if she was able to cause the same reaction again.

"No", she said quietly. "No, I don't."

Muriel assumed it was more the fact that she had been in his room again that had made him angry than the destruction itself, because Armion didn't insist on the matter. Instead his eyes fell on the map in her hands. "Do you intend to go somewhere? You have obligations here."

"It's a simple bounty. I'll be back in no time", she said with a rolling of her eyes.

"How long will it take?"

Muriel shrugged and rolled up the map to put it away. "I don't know. Maybe four days, you won't even have time to miss me."

The Thalmor distorted his mouth, but ignored her teasing tone otherwise. "This is unacceptable, we agreed on a schedule."

_Oh screw your schedule._

"If Count Carvain needs my help, I can't simply refuse", she exaggerated slightly, but the easiest way not to be caught in a lie was sticking as close to the truth as possible. That and holding the elf's gaze with confidence.

"Is that the explanation for your nightly visit to his private chambers then?", he asked with a sneer. Muriel quickly checked the entrance hall, but no one seemed to listen to them. Even the other Altmer had moved to the main entrance and was now luckily out of hearing distance. She tried to estimate the Justiciar's question, but since he hadn't reported her immediately, he had to have another plan.

"Whose chambers I visit at night is none of your business..."

"It is my business when mine are burned down afterwards", he persisted. Muriel rolled her eyes again. Fire runes were powerful, but also short-living. As far as she had seen none of his books or clothes had fallen victim to the flames. For a moment she just looked at him before she decided the discussion wasn't worth it.

She turned around to leave the castle. "I got to go."

His gloved hand closed around her upper arm and stopped her. "Conditions have to be kept, Dragonborn, there is no point in making them otherwise. I will meet you at the eastern gate."

Her gaze lingered on his hand and she wanted nothing more than to tell him to let go when his words sunk in. "You will...", she repeated slowly. "_What?!_ Are you kidding me? No way!"

"Do you really think I will let you out of my sight after such an assault?", he said menacingly and released her arm. "Eastern gate, twenty minutes."

With that he turned around, leaving her no chance to protest again. With a sour look she watched him return to the other Altmer and after they exchanged a few words, the Adjutant looked at her with a confused and reluctant look that mirrored her own. Muriel wondered what Armion had told him. If he, too, would come along, she swore she would object loud enough for all of Bruma to hear.

With a sigh she tucked the map into her backpack and left the castle. The sunlight outside belied the turn her day had just made and under normal circumstances she would have been thankful, but now it was not lifting her spirits. She wasn't looking forward to the trip anymore and for a short moment she considered leaving Bruma without the Justiciar, but she was sure that he would either catch up with her easily or his wrath would await her when she returned. Both outcomes weren't something she looked forward to and so she found herself waiting at the eastern gate, leaning against the city wall with closed eyes while the sun warmed her face.

Why had she given in this easily? Shouldn't she have fought it more? The idea of the Thalmor travelling with her was ridiculous and unacceptable and yet she had just silently watched when he had imposed the decision on her. A part of her had wanted to rebel. But there was this thought that had stopped her. It was nothing more than the first draft of an idea, a metaphoric image that had flickered through her mind since their last meeting. Ever since Armion had ended the discussion abruptly, it had left her with an aftertaste. He had left the study in a hurry before Muriel could even rise from her chair and it was so suspicious, so intriuging that she couldn't forget it. It was like she had found a door, a heavy door with locks and chains and armed guards ready to fight her off if she tried to get closer and it made the thought of what may lay on the other side even more appealing. It was his blatant attempt of keeping her away, the furious reaction that had followed when she had dared to suggest that this door even existed, that had aroused her curiosity in the first place. For the first time she had seen the elf as a person rather than a uniform and the part of her that hadn't rebelled against his bold decision to accompany her whispered into her ear to let it pass, to search for that door again, to take a peek on what's behind. Muriel sighed and leaned her head against the wall. Her curiosity was an annoying burden, but the longer she would ignore it, the more it would grow. And neither the curious dragon nor the thief searching for treasures could resist a locked door.

The last moment of silence and peace was over far to quickly when a shadow fell over her face. Opening her eyes she saw Armion with a small backpack standing in front of her. With a humourless smile she noticed that it was matching his uniform – she had never paid close attention to this when she encountered other Thalmor on the road but it was only fitting that even such a small thing was standardised by the Dominion. Thankfully he came alone.

"Where's the other one?"

"Someone has to take care of the duties here while I'm gone", he simply replied, his voice much more leveled than before. Muriel pushed her body from the wall and turned to walk through the city gate.

"Do you want him to come along as well?", Armion asked, misinterpreting the distaste written on her face.

"I don't want you to come along and I certainly don't want him to. But I'm not sure what I dislike more – the thought of dragging you along or having him in charge."

"I'm so glad you can acknowledge the quality of my work." The sarcastic tone followed by a soft chuckle made her shoot a sharp look over her shoulder. These would be the longest days she ever had to endure.

Both of them ignored the uncomfortable look the guard at the gate regarded them with as they left Bruma and passed the stables. She had to explain a few things to some people because this would surely make its round in Bruma.

"What did you tell him?", Muriel asked after a few moments in silence.

"That we're running off to Morrowind to live a new life as Netch herders", he said with a voice dripping with sarcasm. This time she didn't even bother to turn around and only shook her head at the path before her. If he didn't want to answer, fine. But she wouldn't allow him to make the journey like a road to Oblivion, spiked with traps and thorns. This was the first time her way would actually lead her away from the Jerall Mountains and gods-be-damned she would enjoy it.

"He does have a rough idea of my orders and other than that I don't like being questioned by my subordinate", Armion conceded finally. Apparently even he saw the proverbial dark cloud above her head. She heard him fumble with his backpack before he closed up to her with two long steps. A familiar bottle of wine appeared in her field of vision. "What is the meaning of this?"

"It's for you. A gift. You said you don't like my choice of wine and when I... stumbled across this bottle, I thought you'd like it.", she shrugged.

The Justiciar's brows furrowed until a sharp crease appeared between them. Unlike men whose age could be easily guessed by looking at their skin, elves looked middle-aged most of their lifes and even if she could see the age difference between Armion and his adjutant, Muriel had never seen a mer with wrinkles. But she was sure if he'd ever got some, this would be the first.

"I assume you didn't buy it?" He was looking for the catch, the trap he thought she was trying to lay, the hidden meaning – she could see it in his eyes and smiled when frustration took over.

"Are you seriously asking me if I spent money on a gift for you?" Now it was for her to raise her eyebrows. "No, I found it lying around and thought it would be a nice token of appreciation for your perfect timing. Can't believe you brought it along..."

"Well, I couldn't leave it at the castle while my room is being renovated, could I?", he snarled. Muriel's smile widened. After the guards had already accused him of sneaking around, finding something the Count reported missing wouldn't help his case. "I won't let you turn me into your accomplice, Dragonborn. Keep your stolen goods somewhere else."

He tried to push the bottle into her hands, but Muriel warded him off. She turned away from the path that slowly started to lead downhill and looked at the elf with a serious face. "No. It's a gift. Keep it."

"I don't want any gifts from you."  
"An apology then", Muriel said. "The last appointment didn't go so well. Even if I merely suggested..."

"It's not your place to suggest anything, Dragonborn", he interrupted her heatedly.

"Alright, alright... I upset you and I apologize."  
Armion's face remained wary as he still searched her eyes for dishonesty. "And blowing up my quarters is your idea of an acceptable apology?"

This time she couldn't hide the grin entirely. "Well... couldn't just leave it outside, could I? This wine didn't survive the Oblivion Crisis just to end up as a guard's nightcap."

The fact that she had needed the distraction was better left unsaid, just as pointing out that it had been his own fire rune that had ruined his room. She got the feeling that it would only lead to another fight and telling by the way he studied the bottle's label, he seemed to accept. For what ever it was worth, right now Muriel didn't want to argue.

"You know, when I found it, I couldn't help but wonder... is it older than you?", she asked before turning back to the road. Armion rolled his eyes and didn't answer, but much to her delight, he stuffed the bottle back into his backpack and followed her.  
They walked in silence after that and Muriel nearly forgot about her unwanted travelling companion. A small part of her brain tried to remind her that it was unwise to forget a threat behind her back, but she felt save enough to ignore it. Admittedly the peace between them was fragile, but at least for now she was sure he wouldn't shoot a fireball in her back. After a while she concentrated fully on the landscape around her while checking the map every once in a while. The path led them south with a beautiful view of the Imperial City in the distance, its towers and walls reflecting in the lake that surrounded it, sparkling in the bright sunlight. One day, she swore to herself, one day she would visit the capital. Cyrodiil's heartland seemed to call to her to explore it, but today they had to turn east soon. The further they got down the mountains, the more the climate changed. Soon the trees wore bright green leaves and mossy, overgrown roots. Even though she had fallen in love with Skyrim in the last years – more with its people than its rough beauty – she missed the forests she remembered from her childhood. Before the melancholy took over, she quickly focused her thoughts. This wasn't the time, not with company like this and a task at hand. Through the trees she saw a few houses appear.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_It's been three weeks, I can't believe it! This chapter was meant to be up sooner, but then work happened and then I got not one, but two pinched nerves and couldn't sit long enough to write, and well... it's all good now. In return this chapter is extra-long, shortening it felt wrong. _

_**msyendor**__, scaling the in-game map is a nightmare, but I go back to walk every path before I write about it and the one Muriel and Armion are taking is not that difficult. That's why Muriel estimated a day to get to the cave, not for the whole trip. Sorry if that was confusing, maybe I will rewrite it one day. But I'm glad you enjoyed it apart from that!_

* * *

_Chapter Sixteen _

Armion noticed the change in the Dragonborn's mood. He had to admit that he wasn't unaffected by the forest that slowly started to get greener around them with every step further south and was convinced that the relief he had felt with leaving Bruma's grey walls had played a significant part in how willingly he had accepted the woman's apology. Not that he would leave her out of his sight or be in any way forgiving, but the decision of following her out of the city had come more naturally than he had thought. His own words had surprised him. They had come out before the thought had fully formed and the sudden realisation that he hadn't left the city in more than five month tasted bitter. There had been of course the short trip to the temple ruin up in the Jerall Mountains, but climbing up a frosty mountainside wasn't his idea of 'getting out'. The few occasions his superior summoned him to the Imperial City were more welcome, but they were just as rare as visiting Blue River Prison whenever his attendance was required and he hadn't made these journeys by foot in over a year. And even though the forest seemed wrong compared to his homeland, he enjoyed the change enough that he didn't mind the lack of uniformity.

They walked in silence, the woman in front of him seemingly ignoring his presence, but he didn't mind that either. Depending on the length of her journey she would've missed up to two appointments, but now there was no rush. Now, he had a lot of time, maybe even enough to get ahead of his schedule and get this whole matter over with sooner than initially thought. The sooner he'd finish his report, the better.

To their right appeared a small settlement between the trees. Armion knew that it was a meadery run by an Imperial family as well as some backround information, but he had never been here before. His job was mostly coordinating operations, not leading them personally and so the regular report from one of his agents was enough to keep him updated on the county. If he remembered correctly, their path led them eastward anyway, but with a frown he saw Muriel turn right towards the houses. He followed her and with a rebuke already on his tongue, he saw the residents of Greenwood stop their work. Their smiling face quickly turned unwelcoming and an old man even had the boldness to place his hand on the hilt of a sword. Armion snorted quietly as Muriel stopped dead in her tracks. Even before she turned around he could imagine the confusion showing on her face and he was proven right when she glanced over her shoulder.

"Oh right...", she muttered like she had just remembered that he was there. With a stern look she turned back around to brush past him. "Let's just go then."

The Imperials still watched him cautiously from afar and he raised his eyesbrows before he turned around. He didn't mind their suspicion; he had no interest in interacting with them in the first place. But as he followed the Dragonborn he noticed her clenched fists and her straight back. She rushed over to the other side of the road and down the hills through the forest without looking back at him. It took a while to catch up with her and she only turned around when she heard his steps behind her.

"When we get back I don't want to see you for at least a week", she said with a straight face. The Thalmor furrowed his brows and was about to remind her of the appointments they had agreed on but something in her eyes silenced him. Sadness had replaced the former confusion, sadness and fatigue that went deeper than just the dark circles under her eyes. Armion had always dismissed those as the general transparence of human skin that often showed the ways their blood flowed through their veins and led to the bizarre pinkness. Not that blushing was something unknown to mer, but it was far less obvious and since it was frowned upon, never really happened. She seemed to wait for his objection while he studied her and after a few moments he slowly nodded. This journey could get him ahead of time anyway, if he got enough answers.

Muriel let out a breath and the tension in her body left slowly with it. Without another word she continued on their path, leading him along the banks of a river until an old bridge of white stones gave an opportunity to pass over. It was patched-up with long planks in some parts but seemed solid enough to carry them over the water. Armion vaguely remembered from the quick look he had had on his map before they'd departed that they were still heading in the right direction even if she decided to follow the path of white bricks that continued after the bridge.

Big broken pillars lined it and Muriel's hand slid absently across their bright surface each time they passed one. Armion let himself drop back. Reading someone's gestures was a part of his profession just like questioning them. It often gave him first hints of someone's motives and ever so often was the sole reason for an interrogation in the first place. Despite the attempt to hide it, the Dragonborn had a strong body language. He had seen her dealing with others when she had tried to pull herself together and keep her face straight, her voice polite and had even smiled at the most boring of idle talk, but it were her eyes that she couldn't control. They always showed when he had hit a weak spot, grew cold within seconds, laughed at someone while she was too polite to actually laugh – or they were sad like they had been at the meadery before. Right now they were full of wonder as they wandered to the top of the pillars and back down as her fingers touched the smooth stones. She seemed to have forgotten that she wasn't alone in the lush forest and to avoid interrupting her in exploring the path before them, he followed behind in silence to observe. The tiles led them downhill for quite a while until the forest cleared and made place for an archway with a circular courtyard behind it.

"Oh wow, what is that?", she asked into the silence and Armion wasn't sure if the question was actually directed towards him. He answered anyway.

"An Ayleid ruin. Anga, I believe."

She winced as if she hadn't expected someone to answer. Her eyes remained on the ruins before them. "It's beautiful."

Armion let his gaze wander over the building. The entrance was still intact, but other than that it was crumbling and the former symmetry could only be guessed. It was little more than the remains of a collapsed empire.

"It probably was – in its day", he agreed nevertheless. "I will not let you drag me inside there, though. You already have a task."

She gave him a crooked smile over her shoulder. "Aren't you curious how it looks inside?"

"I assume just as ruinous as from the outside. If I didn't know better I would say, that you want to prolong this journey."

"You overestimate the pleasance of your company", Muriel huffed. "Even though I have to say I had worse – the hagraven for example, you can't top her."

She grinned at the surprise that had to show on his face, but continued before he could ask for more details.

"But you're not wrong... Besides, the weather will soon change." Armion followed her gaze with a frown. Not a single cloud was visible through the treetops and the sky was as blue as it had been this morning, there was no sign of a break in the weather. The sun was on its peak and if they kept their pace, chances were good that they'd reach their destination before dawn.

"How about a short break?"

This spot probably was as good as any to rest for a moment and after that they could walk through until the evening. As an answer he pulled out the waterskin from his backpack and leaned against one of the pillars. Muriel dropped her own backpack to the forest floor and sat against the circular stone in the middle. They ate in silence with only the sounds of the forests around them and when Armion looked over to the Dragonborn after a while, he found her with closed eyes leaning against the stone. She seemed relaxed, but he was sure her other senses were wide awake and as if she had sensed the sudden attention, she opened her eyes.

"How is it back home? I mean...", she said to break the awkward eye contact and waved around the ruins. "Compared to this?"

Armion took another sip from his waterskin and put it back. "Functioning."

"Oh, come on. I can ask questions too, remember? Just this one. Answer this and the rest of the day I'll answer yours."

Armion watched her sharply. He still wasn't sure if this whole thing had been a good idea. If he had just taken her to Blue River Prison, he wouldn't be standing in the middle of a forest trying to avoid this woman's curious questions. But he had to admit, so far she had kept her end of the bargain. For most parts.

"Foreigner's knowledge about Alinor is strictly limited. Only a few are allowed to the capital."

"You mean it's forbidden to talk about it?" She laughed in disbelief. "That sounds a bit radical... but then again I forgot who I'm talking to... on the other side you could tell me your trees grow upside down and I'd have no way of proving you wrong."

He thought about it for a moment. She wasn't wrong, she had no way of knowing whether or not he was telling the truth, but the policy of the Dominion was very clear on this and the thought of violating it didn't feel right. It wasn't in his nature to ignore orders.

"I'm not asking you to draw me a map." It was like she saw the struggle behind his straight face and tried to be helpful. She took a deep breath. "What does it smell like?"

"What does it...?"

"...smell like, yes", she laughed at his frown. "By the look on everyone's face, the rest of Tamriel must smell awful. Every Thalmor I met was wearing his nose so high, there's no way the sense of smell is a stranger to you."

Armion stared at her smiling face. There was no spite in her eyes. Now that he thought about it, the way she had given up so quickly when he had announced that he would come with her... It didn't fit into the image he had of her, it was like it wasn't the same woman who had nearly attacked one of his people in the middle of the streets. Nothing seemed to remain of the former anger, leaving behind only a sparkle of curiosity and a hint of – he felt strange to name it as it came unexpected – friendly teasing. It caught him off guard, in fact, he was so surprised that he actually thought about her question. What did Alinor smell like? He tried to remember it.

"What is the first scent you remember when you woke up back home?", she asked again when he didn't answer. It wouldn't hurt to give in to the more superficial questions he decided.

"Cherry blossoms", he finally said. He remembered the trees growing everywhere. Looking at the forest around him, he felt a small sting and realised that he had nearly forgotten this small detail about his homeland before her question.

"Hm..." Muriel looked once again over the ruins around them. "Do you miss it?"

"Oh no, why would I? Bruma is such a wonderful city to live in. I can't believe the winter is already over – I can barely wait for the next!", Armion said. Truth was, his memory of Alinor was probably slightly outdated for he hadn't been back home for nearly three decades, but that wasn't something he would tell her about.

"You should ask for a transfer to Windhelm then, it's covered in snow all year long. The Stormcloaks even had a whole temple dedicated to Talos, you'd love it. I wonder what happened to it...", she grinned at his sour look. "But I take your answer as a yes. Don't you have winters where you're from?"

"I do recall you saying that you won't ask anymore questions today."

"Right." The young woman didn't look guilty at all and was suddenly very quick at picking up her backpack, but instead of heading out of the circle of ruins she walked towards the heavy stone door. Her hand reached for it.

"What are you doing?", Armion asked, not able to keep the renewed annoyance out of his voice. He pushed his body from the pillar and shouldered the backpack.

"Just checking if it's unlocked", she said, but the innocent tone of her voice couldn't mask the exitement completely when the sound of stone grinding against stone announced the working of the old mechanism.

"Now that we made sure to prove the marvelous functionality of meric architecture, can we..." He broke off when Muriel ignored him and disappeared into the darkness that seemed to crawl out of the ruin. "Oh Xarxes' breath..."

With a frustrated sigh he followed the woman inside. Behind him the door glided back and took all the light and the sounds of the forests with it. The silence around spoke loudly, drummed in his ears even if the old walls swallowed everything but his steps. Polished stairs led him down into a hallway where he found her. It was dimly lit by a brazier aflame with blue, magical fire. Armion stopped for a moment to examine it, but to his disappointment he couldn't determine the time when it had been originally cast. He doubted highly that this fire had burned for centuries, but the magic told him little more than 'not now' when he tried to grasp it. From the corner of his eye he saw the Dragonborn zigzag through the corridor and turned his attention to the floor. Through roots and fern he noticed the sharp mouths of bear traps ready to snap shut around the shin of a careless looter, but Muriel suddenly seemed far from careless. With dreamy certainty she navigated around the traps, not even looking at her feet. It was like a force beyond her control guided her through the corridor and Armion made sure to memorise the path she had taken. How demeaning stepping on one of those traps would be. He was able to heal superficial wounds, but these traps would leave him crippled for the rest of his life. It needed a capable healer or a powerful potion to fix a tibia broken by iron fangs, but even then a full recovery wasn't guaranteed. Slowly he made his way through, his eyes fixated on the ground until he reached safer ground next to her.

"See? Just as overgrown and destroyed as I pre-" The Dragonborn's raised hand let him stop midsentence. She didn't look back at him and instead fixated on point in front of them. A lifeless body of an Imperial was nearly buried between the roots, but the deep red that drenched his robes and the ground around him told them that the plants hadn't grown on top of him. Someone seemed to have broken the man's bones enough times for his limbs to sink into a bloody pulp between the roots. The dried blood made it impossible to tell what colour his clothes had once been, but the amulet around his neck gave him away. Muriel carefully pulled the necklace over the man's head and out from his hood and looked at the small pendant resembling a drinking horn.

"Maybe you should wear it. Since you're lacking an amulet, you know...", Armion couldn't help but comment and earned a dark sideglance meant to silence him. She pocketed the amulet. With two fingers she made a short gesture towards her ear hidden by the hood and nodded to where the corridor took a turn to the left. Her gestures were unsure, but precise enough for him to understand. He had always assumed the rank the Imperial Legion had given her, had been nothing more than a formality for being the Empire's living banner in Skyrim's Civil War. That she had indeed undergone at least a basic training was a surprise and one he made a mental note of. Even though the signals differed slighty from the ones the Dominion's forces used and its troops were taught, he suddenly was reminded of the Dragonborn's military backround. The way her body had tensed up, the former childishness replaced with a sudden sobriety he hadn't expected her to be even capable of – she had heard something.

Before he could stop her, she stepped over the corpse and headed further into the ruin. For a moment he thought about turning around and let her walk straight into whatever lurked inside the ruin, but with a silent curse on his lips, Armion followed. The curse wasn't necessarily directed at her, it equally condemned his own assumption that this would be a smooth journey. Heading to the cave, getting rid of the goblins, walking back – how hard could it be? But Muriel's inability to stay on topic even during a conversation should've been warning enough. Of course she wouldn't keep on track, he should've known.

He followed her lead down another staircase and carefully avoided loose stones or any of the other pale objects that suspiciously looked like bone fragments. It slowed him down as the floor was full of rubble, but she didn't seem to have the same problem. Her steps were as sure as they were silent and for a moment he could see her sneak through Count Carvain's chambers again without alerting the guards. That he himself had woken up when she had done the same to him suddenly felt uncomfortably like a mere coincidence and like her lack of skill or his watchful senses had anything to do with it.

In the light of the crystalline structure on the ceiling the Dragonborn's gaze flickered over skulls lined up on a small edge and Armion reached for one of them. The look in her eyes when they caught his, stopped him from touching, but not from leaning closer to examine the bones. The skulls hadn't been here originally – they were clearly men, not mer. Someone had put them on the edge in either a morbid sense of decoration or to show off trophies. Both options left a foul taste behind that wasn't solely the aged air. The room that followed after the narrow staircase did little to ease their breathing. It weren't the centuries-old coffins that fitted perfectly into the niches carved into the walls that made the air stale, but another Vigilant of Stendarr that had found his end on the ruin's floor. The torch next to the man was still burning, but the flame was fed by the last drop of oil. The body had to be lying here for several hours at least. For him personally this was sign enough for them to turn around, but with a frown Armion had to watch as the young woman continued walking past the corpse and towards a decorated archway.

The breath he drew to object was interrupted by her hand again. Holding it up to get his attention as well as urging caution, Muriel peeked around the next corner. The next signal made him swallow the words that tried to find their way through his teeth back down. One finger meant one enemy. Carefully Armion closed up to her to get her to retreat, but before he reached her she crouched past the corner and into the next corridor. As sure as he was of his own skills, he could also admit when something wasn't his strongest point. Moving completely soundless was one of them and so he abandoned any thought of following her example. All he could do was watch her as she moved silently through the corridor. At its end stood a figure in long blue robes, but with its back towards them, a hooded head and the flickering light of flames somewhere further down the way, it was impossible to tell more. Armion could neither determine race nor gender and when he saw the Dragonborn sneaking towards the person, it didn't matter who or what stood there. All he knew that he had a bad feeling with no way of calling the woman back. So he stayed behind the archway and had to watch as Muriel stopped to look into the wide room just past the unsuspecting figure's legs. Armion couldn't see what she saw, but her whole body went stiff at the sight. With narrowed eyes he tried to think of a way of getting her to retreat, but of course the thought alone couldn't reach her. Whatever was down there wasn't for them to solve and with that Armion finally decided. He wouldn't take this risk, especially if she just ignored the warning signs of dead bodies at the entrance. He threw her one last glance before he turned to leave. Foolish girl, let her stumble to her death, why should he care? If she died, his report wouldn't matter anyway and he'd had one less thing to worry about.

Armion managed two steps when a soft whiff followed by a flicker of a torch made him glance back. For a second he locked eyes with the Imperial that had turned at the almost inaudible sound of the flames and surprise was written all over the man's face. It only lasted until Muriel straightened herself. Without hesitation she pushed. In a bundle of robes and screams the man went over the balustrade. The muffled impact when he hit the floor was followed by voices, then shouts and finally the characteristic sound of wards being cast. One... two... and three, Armion counted the spells and hoped that it were all of them. He closed his eyes for a moment and turned back around with a frustrated growl. So much for leaving unnoticed.

Inside the corridor he heard Muriel draw her weapon, but only caught a glimpse of her foot as she was already running into the next room. He knew he had to follow eventually. Waiting to be spotted in the tight spot he was in right now was suicide. Not only hostile spells were a threat, the walls could easily turn his own fireballs against him and leaving him roasted by flames meant to defend himself. Casting Ironflesh on himself, Armion followed the Dragonborn into the open. The doorway led him out on a balcony overlooking the room below. It was as long as it was wide with a ceiling so high, even the open campfire and many torches couldn't illuminate it entirely. He was able to catch a short glance at the enormous pillar at its center before Muriel running down the right side of the balcony drew his attention back to the fight ahead. She disappeared through another doorway into a hallway that had to lead downstairs, but from where he was standing he saw the doorway that had to be the other end. The shine of several magical light sources announced the mages preparing to meet her in the narrow space and while he was interested to watch and wait for the outcome of the battle, the sound of the Dragonborn already lamenting in his head as well as the fact that if the mages managed to overpower her, he would be next, set his feet into motion.

He made it halfway before the sound of screams and loud bangs of spells smashing into walls reached his ears. With another curse Armion reached the doorway. Stairs led down and at the foot of them, he found Muriel with her shield raised high as she tried to keep away from the spells pelting down on her. The narrow staircase kept the hostile mages at a distance, even they knew the danger of firing at a target that's too close, but it didn't keep them from trying to break through the shield. It glowed with an enchantment that held a ward in front of the young woman and where a normal ward would've long been broke, the shield seemed to renew the protection constantly. He had never seen anything like it and for a moment, Armion only watched her trying to push her enemies backwards and back into the room. It wasn't until one of the hooded figures threw a spell at them that rang all the alarms in his head that he woke from his passivity. Even before the spell was completely developed, he knew what was going to happen. Calling a warning down the corridor, he protected himself behind a ward of his own to brace himself for what was to come. When the conjurer pulled the Frost Astronach fully into this part of reality, the temperature in the hallway suddenly dropped several degrees. Through the roaring and crunching of ice, Muriel cursed loudly.

The astronach lunged out and let his club-like arm smash through the ward and onto the shield. The impact drove her to her knees. Behind the creature the mages retreated out of the hallway to let it deal with them. Back in Alinor he and the other mages focussed on destruction magic had often thought themselves above conjurers. They had called them weak and cowardly for hiding behind daedric forces pulled straight from Oblivion, but he knew that conjurations were just as annoying as they were effective. The creature's chances were good to kill them both; he couldn't cast a spell without hitting the Dragonborn's back and there was no way she could block another attack. Muriel seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because another curse that would make a bandit blush was heard before she charged at the hulking Daedra.

"No!", Armion shouted to get her attention and let a fireball grow in his free hand. "Get the conjurer!"

For a moment she seemed to just stare at the wall of living ice blocking the doorway, hesitating to follow his command, but when the creature prepared for another attack, she darted forward. For a moment he could see her crashing into the solid astronach whose form nearly took up all the space, before...

"**FEIM!**"

Reality around her seemed to flicker as he could suddenly see through her body like he was looking through a window. She was still there, not vanished like she had in the count's chambers, but at the same time she wasn't. Like a ghost, see-through and pale, but different – no spell he knew had this effect, but before he could fully grasp it, she threw herself forward, shield and sword pressed tightly against her body, and slid through the astronach's legs, completely unharmed by it's blow. Armion couldn't wonder about it for long as the deafening roar, loud even without a mouth, was now fully directed towards him. Without thinking twice he let the fireball loose. Even with the distance between him and his enemy, the flames expanded towards him until they reached his ward. The heat he felt through the magical shield nearly took his breath away. It burned on his skin even through ward and the protection of his mage armour and stumbling up the stairs, he withdrew. The astronach's furious steps seemed to shake the walls as it stomped after him, leaving drops of melted ice on the stones. The only way to keep the distance was backwards and so he retreated, step after step, throwing fireball after fireball while carefully keeping up the ward. It was the only thing between him and a death by burning. He had nearly reached the top of the stairs when he noticed movement behind the astronach.

"**FUS RO DAH!**"

The Frost Astronach shattered into shards of ice. The ward wouldn't hold them off, so he dropped it and tried to shield the most vulnerable parts of his body by turning and twisting away from the explosion. Fragments sharp as daggers flew into his direction and Armion ducked while protecting his face with his arm. The sting of ice cutting through the mage armor forced a stiffled scream through his clenched teeth, but when the power of her Shout hit him like a tidal wave, it pressed the air out of his lungs. Even with his arms wrapped around his head, the collision with the wall made him see stars. The iron taste of blood flooded his mouth when he bit his tongue.

Curse the Dragonborn! He had held back with his spells because he knew they would cause havoc in the narrow hallway, but she hadn't done the same. Like a hammer her Shout had travelled through the astronach, completely destroyed it regardless of anything – or anyone – harmed alongside. When the last echo died away he could still hear it ringing in his ears, but through the roar came fast steps. The woman slipped over the wet stairs and fell to her knees next to him. Armion hadn't noticed sinking to his own. A hand tugged at his elbow while another rested way too familiar on his shoulder. He looked up from underneath his arm and watched Muriel's mouth form words, but they didn't reach his mind. She looked worried, a little embarrassed even, as her gaze wandered over the cut on his wrist up to his hairline where something wet ran down his forehead. It started to hurt the moment he shifted his attention towards it.

Her hand left his arm and pulled the backpack from her shoulder to search through it. It only took a few seconds before the corked bottle of a healing potion was pushed into his intact hand. Armion had never bothered to learn more than necessary about alchemy, but even he recognized good craftsmanship. Even the bottle looked well made and the bright red potion inside swashed from one side of the bulbous base to the other like liquid velvet. It was excellent quality and surely hadn't been cheap, but his mind couldn't quite decide what to do with it. His thoughts were slow-moving like he was trying to push through the swamplands of Black Marsh and all he could do was to concentrate on the ringing in his ears.

Muriel's hand appeared in his field of vision to pull the cork off.

"Drink." Her voice was far away, not like she was whispering, but like someone had stuffed his auditory canal with wax. Deep within his fogged mind he knew that it wasn't a suggestion, but that didn't change that she was right. She carefully supported the bottle as he lifted it to drink. The urge to protest was quickly forgotten when he tilted his head back and his vision nearly went black. It took a lot of willpower to swallow the potion while his body wanted nothing more than to throw the bread he had eaten for lunch out and onto the old floor in front of him. Only clinging to the last bit of his dignity prevented it and so he drank until the bottle was empty and the potion filled his stomach with heat. It spread through his limbs, knitted the flesh the ice and wall had torn open and slowly, very slowly, eased the headache until the fog in his mind was lifted. That was when he became aware of the Dragonborn's hand still resting on his shoulder. Her thumb brushed absently over his robes, like she wanted to comfort him. With one eyebrow raised he looked down and she quickly removed her hand.

"How do you feel?" Since the ringing had stopped, her voice was at a normal level again, but way too close for his taste. Armion let the wall support him as he pulled himself up and into a standing position.

"I shouldn't have done that, it was stupid...", she muttered and rose as well. He didn't answer and only threw a piercing glance her way. As impressive as the sheer power of her voice had been, she had used it without regard to him standing in the way and if his legs hadn't been still shaking, he would've known only one respond for such an assault.

"I'm sorry...", Muriel tried again when he remained silent. She bit her lip and Armion felt her wide eyes on his back when he turned and walked down the stairs to look at the remains of the battle that had taken place in the open room. The apology sounded honest and truly remorseful, but what really let his anger vanish, waited on the other side of the doorway. In the short time between the conjuring of the Frost Astronach, his fight with the creature and finally its destruction, Muriel had made short work of the mages. How she had managed to defeat all of them in such a short time and with such an efficiency could only be guessed, but the only annoyance he now felt was about the fact that he hadn't been able to witness it. He looked back at the innocent looking woman who had followed him into the room that had been a battlefield only minutes ago. Nothing showed of her abilities now as she was busy looking at the pillar while trying to avoid the bloody remains that clung to the pikes around it. How on Nirn had she done it? Armion thought himself to be a capable battlemage and an opponent that had to be taken seriously, but he wasn't completely sure if he had been able to get to the same result in such a short time.

Muriel carefully navigated through the pikes and dead bodies and came to a halt next to him. Even in the dim light she looked paler than usual.

"Who are they?", her voice broke the grave silence and cleaned her blade with the robe of one of the fallen. She looked a little sick and maybe that was the reason she didn't even dropped a comment about the fact that it had probably been his fault that the fight had broken out in the first place. That or the fact that she thought he was still mad about the wave of power that had given him a mild concussion. Armion found that the idea of the Dragonborn waiting for his forgiveness was actually not unappealing.

"Cultists", he answered silently and just like her, he swallowed every accusation back down about what had led to them standing in a room full of death. "Daedric with all certainty. One of yours?"

He couldn't keep the side blow in and from the corner of his eye he saw the indignant frown, but also the relief in her eyes when he didn't ignore her any further.

"I... I don't think so", she said slowly and sheathed her sword. Armion snorted. She didn't even know how the Daedra she had bargained with were worshiped by their followers. Carelessly she had offered her soul with no regard of who or what she was dealing with. But her naivity wasn't his concern. His eyes wandered over the corpses around them, the ones Muriel had put there as well as the ones the cultists had put on pikes.

"Me neither", he admitted and heard the woman exhale with a sigh. "A cult of Namira is known to practice their foul idolatry nearby. It seems they have spread to this ruin as well."

"Do you think they were still alive when... well", she broke off and vaguely gestured towards the pikes. Armion raised his brows.

"Why, because I'm the one regularly impaling people? If they didn't do it for mere aesthetic reasons, they were probably alive, yes."

Muriel pressed her lips together. "That has to hurt."

"That's the whole point, isn't it?" Armion resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Daedric cults often did this, partly as offering and partly out of... well, fun probably. She must've seen bodies like the ones on the pikes before. "But I don't think it hurts for long. Why the sudden indignation? You just gutted three men."

"They attacked first", she said with a pout.

"You pushed another to his death before he attacked."

"Nitpicker...", Muriel muttered and turned towards the cultists' camp to search through the chest between the tents. Armion furrowed his brows. Was it his imagination or did he hear a smile in her voice?


	17. Chapter Seventeen

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_Enjoy :)_

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_Seventeen_

It was always the same with looting chests. The excitement before opening the heavy lid, not knowing what treasures would await her and the disappointment when it was filled with clutter or someone's dirty clothes. Sometimes, like today, she found something sparkly at the bottom and she had learned to call it a success. Apart from a few gems there were two coins that caught her attention. Ancient and worn, but once made with precision and care, they were unlike anything she had ever seen before. She had never cared much about smithing and so the material seemed foreign. The metal, warm and rusty brown in colour, was surely no gold, but too yellowish for copper. The coin also felt lighter than the today's Septims, but far more decorated with a tree minted into it holding a rich green gem. Maybe someday she would find an expert on these things, but for now it was pretty enough to keep.

Rising from the chest, she looked around the cultists' camp. Nothing else looked valuable here and with a sigh she threw one of the coins to Armion. He caught it with ease and a questioning look on his face.

"Your share", Muriel said and pocketed the other one. Then she crossed the room. "Let's get going."

"What do you think you're doing?", Armion called after her.

"What do you think? Searching the rest of the ruin, of course." She turned to leave through the doorway, but his voice made her stop again.

"No", he said firmly and with a few steps he closed up to her. When Muriel looked up, the disapproval was clearly visible on his face. He looked ready to hold her back if necessary. "We will not look for the rest of the cult, Muriel. Wasn't this lesson enough?"

Maybe the wall had left a larger bump than she had thought, but apparently he hadn't witnessed the same fight as she had. Muriel looked back into the room, but the victorious feeling remained. Not for a moment she had doubted the outcome of the battle. Yes, she had hit him as well, but not on purpose and she had apologized, hadn't she? She had even given him one of her potions.

"Why not?", she asked. "They're killing people in here, Armion. Sacrifing them even."

"And like the hero you are, you just rush in to save the day? Do you always operate this... arrogantly? This isn't your responsibility right now and it definitely isn't mine! We will leave." Muriel opened her mouth to shoot back, but the dried blood on the Altmer's forehead silenced her. A nagging, annoying voice inside her head wondered what would've happened if he had been unconcious because of her – and unable to drink the potion. What would've happened then? She didn't know any healing spells and even if, she couldn't use them. It was presumptuous of him to accuse her of arrogance when his kind was the paragon of it, but the comparision was enough to make her rethink. Was she acting arrogant, selfish even?

_Of course not. What if someone's still alive? I have to help._

"You know nothing of what awaits you or how many enemies you'll find", Armion interrupted her thoughts. "Ambushes like this need a strategy, not a vigilante blinded by her own heroism."

That stung. Muriel bit her lower lip and threw a glance into the darkness of the hallway that led away from them and further into the ruin. The need to help had got her into trouble before, a few times she had only escaped by a hair's breadth, but it had never stopped her.

"What do you propose?", she asked silently.

"Once we're back Count Carvain will be informed as well as the Captain of the Guard and they'll decide how to deal with the situation."

Muriel rolled her eyes impatiently. "Then it will be a bounty anyway."

"Then so be it", he concluded and turned to get up the stairs they had come from earlier. "At least it will be official."

"Oh, you're so..." She broke off and searched for words.

"Rational? Reasonable? Commonsensible?", Armion suggested with a cool look over his shoulder.

_Pedantic, law-abiding, narrow-minded..._

"Not quite...", she muttered before raising her voice again. "Fine, we'll leave. Happy?"

He ignored her and she followed the Thalmor up the stairs and back through the hallways. Her eyes were at his back, but she didn't really see him as her thoughts wandered off. What was it with him and laws? She had never met someone this insisting on the importance of legitimacy. The best example was the agreement he had made her sign; both of them knew it wouldn't mean much if one of them chose to break it, even if for now they had a silent understanding to honour it. Muriel wasn't sure why he did, maybe because he felt better with something written out. No matter the absurdity, as long as there was a rule for something, he seemed to embrace it not only willingly, but even gladly. The memory of their last discussion in the study came back. As much as she wanted to think that his clinging to rules was a way of coping with whatever traumatic childhood experience he tried to hide, it didn't even sound convincing in her head. People didn't build a career because of a coping mechanism and the passionate way Armion talked about the White-Gold Concordat was as genuine as his dislike of Talos. It was easy to simplify things to black and white, but even if her time on Nirn was short compared to his, she had already learned that good and evil solely depended on where one stood. And as cold and gruesome as the Thalmor appeared to the rest of Tamriel, Muriel was sure that they were truly convinced to do the right thing. But had it been doubt in the Justiciar's eyes?

_No, of course it hadn't. Stop imagining things._

They reached the corpse of the first Vigilante of Stendarr and Armion stopped to let her take the lead through the traps. As always Nocturnal guided her steps and she was thankful for it, but felt even more gratitude when the heavy door of the ruin's entrance opened and greeted them with fresh air. Behind her Armion drew a deep breath when he followed out into the forest. It was the only sign of relief he showed, but she suddenly wondered if his first refusal of entering the ruin could've been because he disliked being underground. It was possible, she wasn't exactly fond of it either.

She left the circular stones into the forest and walked in silence until they reached another cobbled road where she stopped to take the map out again.

"How did you defeat the cultists?", Armion suddenly asked and climbed down to the road to land beside her.

"What do you mean?", she muttered, distracted by the map as she turned it in her hands to find the right perspective.

"It was extraordinary fast." He crossed his arms while he watched her attempts with scepsis.

"It's a shout, it slows time for me so it appears fast for everyone else", she said absently and crooked her head. With furrowed brows she searched the map for orientation, but couldn't find any sign of the Ayleid ruin they had just past.

"Really?" He sounded curious. "How?"

"Maybe I'll demonstrate one day, but for now my throat hurts." She looked up to see the expected displeasure and added not without bite, "It's one of the things the amulet makes better, so either give it back or stop sulking."

Armion's eyes narrowed for a moment before he reached out to pull the map from her, turn it and thrust it back into her hands. Surprised she looked down.

_Oh okay, that makes a lot more sense._

"Watch your mouth, Dragonborn, I won't acquiesce in disrespect. If you can't treat me with the proper respect, why should I?"

"The thing with respect is that our definitions are totally different, Armion", Muriel sighed and searched the map until she found the small settlement they had past earlier. It was marked as Greenwood and further to the east was a small mark for the ruin. Muriel would've loved to have more landmarks already drawn in, but apparently her idea of a 'detailed map' differed from the Steward's by a lot. Seemed like she had to do most of it herself – again. It had already been a pain in her backside back in Skyrim. Carrying a full inkwell while climbing, exploring caves and being attacked wasn't much fun. One time it had broken and stained all her belongings to the point of being unusable and since that day she refrained from bringing ink on her travels. Maybe she could borrow the Justiciar's, she was sure he had brought one along. Or maybe it had shattered when he had a unintentionally close look at the wall earlier...

She felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. Not that the concussion had been funny, but the thought of a broken inkwell somewhere inside the dark robes was. The fabric wouldn't show, but maybe his leg was now blue. When she looked up, Armion was still staring at her with narrowed eyes and her ears grew warm as she thanked the divines that he couldn't hear her thoughts. Her last statement was still hanging in the air between them and Muriel could feel the unspoken question he didn't want to ask.

"Look... I think respect means treating someone like a person. I just realized... well, of course I knew before, but you are a person... obviously..." The warmth of her ears increased when his brows slowly rose. Thankfully the waves of the loose strands from her braid covered it enough to hide it from his watchful eyes. "But you think it means I should treat you like an authority. And when you say '_If you don't respect me, I won't respect you_' what you really mean is '_If you don't treat me like an authority, I won't treat you like a person_'. You think it's fair, but it's not..."

A heavy drop of water hit the parchment and Muriel threw a glance to the sky. Dark clouds had thickened above the valley since they had left the Ayleid ruin.

"So I will continue trying to treat you like all the others who have travelled with me, okay?" She kept her voice soft and strangely enough, he didn't answer. Instead he too glanced up to the clouds that were now letting more drops hit the road around them and from the grudging look on his face, he acknowledged that her prediction had been right. Muriel threw a look up and down the road, but before she could decide how to proceed, Armion nodded towards the path on their right.

"This way." She didn't question how he knew which way to go; he had to know the county after all.

The rain started fully shortly after their departure and got stronger by the minute. Even the leaves above their heads couldn't stop the pouring from soaking them and after about an hour Muriel felt the water running down her back when the protective leather armor gave in. She had thought about using her voice to calm the rain, but apart from her sore throat, tampering with something like the weather had never sat right with her. At her grandparent's farm back in High Rock, rain had always been something to celebrate and who was she to put her needs over those of the trees?

The road led them through a birch forest, but it would've been way more enjoyable if the weather had been on their side. They followed the path over a small stream, over soft hills and through valleys, until it met a cobblestone street. Constantly checking her map – the man behind her seemed to be unwilling to break the sinister silence he had fallen into ever since the storm had started – Muriel choose to follow the paved road for a little while. If she read the map correctly while trying to shield it from getting soaked, the road would lead them too far south and away from their destination. When she found a small trail leading back into the forest and up to the north, she followed it without further ado.

They still had several hours ahead of them until the goblins' lair would be close and the thick clouds already darkened the forest around them when she spotted a vague light through the trees. She turned around to the Thalmor, who looked scowlingly from under his hood, to point to the shimmer before leaving the path. The squishing sound of the ground beneath her feet was nearly drowned out by the rain but she made out Armion's footsteps behind her and knew he was still following.

The trees cleared enough to give view of a lake whose surface was churned by the pouring. Down the hill at its shore she saw the light source which turned out to be a small cottage with a pier leading out into the water. Muriel tried to wipe the drops from her face as she carefully stayed between the trees. When she was able to make out more details, she fell back behind a tree trunk. On the porch just sheltered by the roof stood a man in simple leather armor with a battleaxe on his back. A single torch enlightened the area around him – a foolish decision for he could be spotted easily, while seeing nothing in the steadily growing darkness around him. He wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings, assumingly didn't even see much through the rain, but it was obvious that he was keeping watch.

"Should we..", Muriel started but one look at the Thalmor was answer enough and she saved her breath whether or not they should seek shelter here. Armion looked completely soaked, a few strands of his usually neatly combed hair stuck to his forehead and the water seemed to run from underneath the hood over his face. Muriel wondered how long his clothes had kept away the rain because they seemed to be made mainly out of fabric. A mage at The Bannered Mare had once told her the reason why spellcasters preferred clothes over armor, but she couldn't remember. In her defence, she had probably been drunk...

But she didn't need to finish her question because he didn't look like he wanted to answer anyway. With the mouth in a thin line, Armion's eyes shot menacingly at her, at the man on the porch, at the lake – basically at the whole world around, looking for something to blame his current state on.

Muriel returned her attention to the house. The man hadn't moved and thankfully hadn't spotted them either. She didn't like the thought of just attacking, he had been no threat so far. Maybe she could just walk up to him to ask for shelter? Even to her that thought sounded naïve. People who felt the need to guard a place in the middle of nowhere, didn't tend to take in others out of the kindness of their heart. Maybe there was a way to scare him away so they could get access?

While she was still thinking about their options, a fireball lit up the dimness of the forest. It flew towards the cottage and precisely found its target. The man shrieked in shock and pain as the flames exploded on his chest and bursted into a sphere around him, igniting his whole body in the process.

With a curse Muriel turned around, but the forest around her was abandoned. Apparently Armion had been too impatient to wait for her to come up with a plan and had decided to act. She couldn't make him out, his dark robes blended in with the shadows of the trees, and it was not until he did cast another fiery spell when she spotted him at the cottage's side.

"Stupid elf..", she muttered through clenched teeth. Abandoning her hiding place she ran towards the battle. While the first man went down with flames licking at his armor, the door opened and, startled by the explosions outside, two more ran outside with their weapons drawn. The mud that had been the forest floor, made every movement difficult and slowed her down as she had to pull her boots out from several inches of soaked ground. Three more fireballs lit up the air and by the time she made it to the porch, all three men were only smoldering corpses. The last flames were quickly put out by the rain. The young woman stepped over the remains and met Armion who was gleaming with the silvery light of some shield he had cast on himself.

"Are you finished?", she snarled and the pleased look in his eyes changed back to the gloomy one from before.

"Yes. Unless you keep that tone, Dragonborn", he answered with a threatening voice and walked towards the door.

"I had a plan!"

"Did it involve knocking?" Apparently the anger about her wasn't as big as his anger about the still pouring rain because he entered without another look at her. Muriel tilted her head towards the sky with a silent curse but as the rain started to run down her collar, she quickly followed the Altmer inside.

The warmth of a firepit welcomed her and it was like a blessing after the last hours of icy water. To her surprise, Armion hadn't moved far from the door with his eyes scanning through the only room of the house. There were no other bandits hiding in the corners, but it took just a second to see what had caught his attention. Two more bodies were lying on the floor, a Khajiit woman and an Imperial man, both dressed in civil clothes and the whole house had been ransacked. In the corner of her eye she saw the Thalmor pick something up and when she turned towards him, it turned out to be a single sheet of paper with a note. After a quick read he handed it to her.

_You know the Imperial and the Khajiit in the house across the lake? Turns out the Khajiit is a massive moon sugar addict! I want you to break into their house and find the sugar stash. It's gotta be in there somewhere!_

_Kill them if necessary I don't care_

_-Rondar_

Muriel looked back at the woman's body. "Oh, that's so... unnecessary."

"Do you now agree that it would've been an absurd idea to simply knock on this door?", Armion asked while his eyes clearly said '_Bet you're feeling stupid now'_. He walked over to the wardrobe to search through its content. Water from his robes was constantly dripping on the floor and left a trail of drops behind him.

Muriel pursed her lips and looked around the house. "Any blankets in there?"

The Thalmor grabbed two folded sheets and threw them into her arms. She unfolded the first one and placed it on the ground next to the corpse before attempting to roll the body over. It took her some effort to turn the limp body over and roll it into the blanket but in the end she was satisfied with the result. Completely ignoring Armion's staring, she continued on the second body. After the Imperial was wrapped up, Muriel attempted to drag him by his feet but barely moved him.

"A little help?"

"What are you doing?", he asked and chose a set of clothes from the closet.

"We have to get them outside or they will surely start to smell during the night", she said with a sober voice and waited for the Altmer to grab the other foot of the man. Together they managed to drag the dead couple outside and left them under the edge of the roof to avoid them getting completely soaked.

Back inside Muriel went through the wardrobe herself until she found a simple tunic and pants that had to do for tonight. She couldn't stay in her wet armor – even her backpack hadn't withstood the storm and her spare clothes were just as soaked. Ridding herself of the protective layer of leather wasn't her first choice while being on the road, not under normal circumstances and even less under the current ones, but a Thalmor was the last one she worried about trying to catch a glimpse and so she shoved away any embarrassment.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_Eighteen chapters already... I initially thought this story would be over in twenty. But I have to let you know that this will probably be the last chapter for 2020. Work is overwhelming right now (working retail during a pandemic and this close to christmas is a plane of Oblivion, I swear...) and I just can't enjoy writing at the moment, I'm so drained and really struggled with this chapter. But let me know what you think, reviews are always an immense boost of motivation, inspiration and confidence._

_Like the one from __**gwap-queen**__. If you made it this far, thank you so much! _

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Eighteen

"Tomorrow I will go to Silver Tooth Cave alone", she said with her back towards him as she started unbuckling her armor. Armion looked at her from the other side of the room where he had unpacked the wet items from his backpack. Even his provisions were mostly useless now and he silently cursed the weather in Cyrodiil for what felt like the thousandth time this day.

"I don't want to have to worry about goblins and you setting the whole place on fire at the same time. Stay here or wait for me outside, I don't care", she continued when he didn't react. The chest piece of the leather armor dropped to the floor where a small puddle started to form around it as the water seeped out. Even the linen shirt the Dragonborn wore underneath was completely soaked and clinged to her back like a second skin. Second skin indeed, there was nearly no distinction between the sickly pale colour of the linen and her skin, but through the fabric he noticed the pinkish marks of battles like prices paid for victories. Scars on the skin of men weren't an unfamiliar sight to him – many he had caused himself – but even after all these years the colouration was still foreign. The skin of mer was so much thicker, not only proverbially speaking, and it took a lot to leave a wound severe enough for their gods-given healing abilities to fail. He had heard that over the centuries Bretons had developed some sort of natural absorption of magic, a possible variation due to their heritage, but an ability many of his kind considered an abomination. So far Armion had never spent much time thinking about it, but he could acknowledge the irony of fate – a Dragonborn with Dragonskin, who would have thought this would ever happen? At least the scars on her skin meant she wasn't invincible, even if she had remained unscathered in the fight today.

When she started to peel off the fabric, Armion remembered his own wet robes and tore his eyes away. Turning around, he took off the long overcoat and hung it over the edge of the bookshelf dividing the room. Water was still dripping from the thick wool, but hopefully the nearby fireplace was able to dry it overnight. It was designed for colder regions and kept the wearer warm even in the most freezing of blizzards, but unfortunately not dry. It was the downside of this version of the Thalmor uniform and a design fault he had to report to those responsible in Alinor as soon as possible.

"That suits me just fine, I have no interest in doing your work for you.", he finally replied and swallowed down the thought that she was perfectly capable of dealing with a minor threat like goblins on her own. He let the rest of his uniform follow and pulled up the pants he had found in the wardrobe earlier. Thankfully the late owner hadn't been a small man and even though they weren't a perfect fit, the clothes would do until his own were dry enough again. It was bad enough that he was in this situation, but he would rather wear his wet uniform than looking like he had outgrown his clothes.

He slipped on the dry tunic before turning around and found Muriel in the middle of the room with her wet clothes balled up in her arms. She stared at him. How long had she been standing there? After a few moments of her not moving, he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"What is it?"

Muriel lowered her eyes and continued her path over to the fireplace. He heard her mumble something, followed by a clearing of her throat. "I just thought you guys are sewn into that uniform", she quickly recovered but as Armion watched her hanging up her clothes, he thought he noticed a slight pink shimmer on her cheeks. With furrowed brows he turned back around to unroll his bedroll.

It took a while before everything was layed out to dry and both of them were supplied with food they had found around the house. Completely unwilling to head outside again as long as the storm was raging, Armion was glad that the firewood would last them through the night and after a simple meal and with the comforting fire in front of him, he now felt the weariness in his body. It had been too long since he had walked this far, let alone getting into a fight before, and he had to grudgingly admit to himself that he wasn't used to it like he had been ten years ago. Even though he spent his days patrolling through Bruma, the promotion from agent to justiciar had taken its toll. At least he could count on his magic and not on the mere strength of his body as a battle skill – and today had been proof enough that he wasn't out of practice at all. Armion stretched his legs towards the warming flames and hoped that the soreness would be gone tomorrow.

A sigh drew his attention from the dancing fire to his right. Other than him, who had pulled up a chair in front of the fireplace, the Dragonborn sat on the floor while her clothes were drapped over the other available chair. With the empty plate next to her, she had tucked her legs up against her body and rested her head on the knees. Her formerly wet braid was undone to allow the hair to dry in the warm air but even the constant brushing of her fingers hadn't prevented it from turning into a wavy mess. Just like him she had chosen pants and a tunic from the wardrobe, but other than him she nearly looked lost in the Imperial's clothes. With the sleeves rolled up and her bare feet barely peeking out of the pant legs, she looked younger than ever before. For the first time Armion wondered how old she might be. In all these years in Cyrodiil he had gotten better at guessing the age of men but their short lifespan was still a strange concept for him. He assumed she couldn't be older than thirty, probably younger. If she had been a mer, she would've only just reached adulthood, but as it was she had already lived through a third of her life – half if unlucky.

"What did you mean before – about me being a person?", he broke the silence when the recollection of the day brought the conversation back into his mind. The ridiculous statement had bothered him back then as well.

"Huh?" Muriel raised her head and tore her eyes away from the flames to look at him. "Why do you ask?"

He glanced over to his still dripping uniform. It was mainly symbolic. Some said armor was mainly worn in the mind and while he disagreed there, it still applied to the black and gold robes. Like the majority of his people, Armion preferred uniformity simply because it was so much easier on the eyes, but even his people were of course individuals. Naturally the Aldmeri Dominion expected a certain demeanour to show its unity, but for him fine distinctions in personality were enough. The fact that she had felt the urge to point it out, said enough about her impression, though.

"We both know you Thalmor don't care much about what other races think", she said when he didn't answer. Her eyes followed his gaze and she pointed her chin towards the uniform. "With or without that. You think me and all other men are here to serve you and nothing I can say will change something so deeply conditioned insi-"

"We already discussed this. It is an established fact that-", he cut her off, but she interrupted him sharply.

"And we both know that _just because_ is a poor argument." After a few seconds she broke the tense eye contact to sigh and rub her forehead. "There's no happy medium, Armion. So let's just settle with this... I acknowledge that you aren't just a... a Dwemer automaton. Even though I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse..."

Both of them watched the sizzling logs for a while, each of them dwelling on their own thoughts. It didn't matter what the rest of Tamriel thought about his people's claim and especially not what a single Breton thought. Her rebellious nature was bothersome as most of Cyrodiil's citizens knew not to cross the Thalmor, but soon enough there would be a time when the Dragonborn wasn't his problem anymore. In the near future, when his report would be finished and her dossier filed, she would leave Bruma and he could return to his routine once again. With this thought Armion reached for his writing tools on the nearby sideboard. It was best to get started right away.

"You've seen animunculi?", he asked with a businesslike tone and tried to smooth out the wavy pages of the notebook. Muriel watched him for a moment before she decided to accept the renewed professionalism.

"If that's what they're called... I could've lived without the experience. But how else was I suppose to get into Blackreach?"

Armion's arm stopped midair before he overcame the surprise and grabbed the inkwell to uncork it. "You've been to Blackreach?"

"Yeah...", she said thoughtfully. "I had to... couldn't continue without getting the Elder Scroll, could I?"

"You have an Elder Scroll?!" This time she looked visibly amused at the surprise he couldn't hide in time, but the astonishment outweighed the annoyance enough that he didn't care. He had expected a lot, but this? The fact that she was neither blind nor mad – well, apart from the slight touch of megalomania here and there – made it nearly unbelievable, but she showed no signs of lying. Armion watched the small woman sitting on the floor and tried to imagine her fighting dragons or speaking to Daedra. Or reading an Elder Scroll, an artifact he wasn't sure he even wanted to touch, let alone open. His imagination failed miserably, he just couldn't see her do all these things. And yet he had no doubt about her truthfulness. No wonder the Dragonborn looked like she hadn't slept in years, many would've been at their limit a lot sooner.

But so much for his report being finished soon. Suddenly he felt like there was still so much more to come, so much more she could tell him about and all of it would bring more questions. And he knew he wanted answers to all of them, old habits died hard. Like a book whose every page brought up another cross-reference he had to look up, she wasn't even trying to impress and while her lack of what he considered common knowledge was pathetic, she was still a vast source of answers he hadn't expected when he had first seen her.

"Maybe we should start at the beginning", Armion finally said after she had raised her eyebrow in a manner that would suit one of his kind.

"Sure", Muriel said and rested her head on her knees again. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Even though you share certain... cultural similarities with its people, I reckon you're not from Skyrim?"

"Really? And I tried so hard to fit in... just ask my liver." Armion filled the tip of his quill with ink and threw her a meaningful glance. He was getting tired of calling her to order.

"What does it matter? Are you writing my biography now?", she sighed, catching his mood quicker than he had expected. "Okay, fine... I came to Skyrim about... six years ago I think?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe the border was already closed by then."

Her mumble was nearly drowned out by the crackle of the embers. "If you say so..."

"Well, I have to know since I was the one who ordered the Legion's Commander up at Pale Pass to close it." Armion remembered the day when the orders from the highest Thalmor authorities from both Skyrim and Cyrodiil had arrived nearly simultaneously in Bruma. When the Emperor's decree had reached the county a day later, he had already acted.

Muriel threw him a sideways glance and didn't answer, but the way she pulled her sleeves over her hands was enough to draw his attention. "You came from High Rock? Taking your accent into account, even after six years with cloddish Nords and their limited skills of articulation, I venture a guess and say Stormhaven."

"Pretty good guess", she said with a crooked smile. "What else have you got? You know heros love hearing about themselves."

Normally Armion preferred it when his suspiscions got verified by the target without its knowledge and not the other way around. The shimmer in her eyes wasn't just the flames – she clearly challenged him, but seemed relaxed enough to reveal the information he was looking for. If the last weeks had taught him one thing, it was that she was more willing to talk when she was under the impression of having some sort of influence on the conversation. Pushing her to answer would only play into the hands of her defiance and so he decided to play along. Thoughtfully he traced his jaw as he let his eyes wander over her appearance once more.

"Your level of education suggests lower middle class, peasantry even. I'd go with the latter since you look like you deem a bath the peak of maintaining a proper appearance and even the daughter of a simple merchant would've learned to do something about... whatever that is."

Muriel straightened her back when his gaze lingered on her hair and slowly pulled it over her shoulder to smooth it out.

"You mentioned your grandmother. I reckon she's not originally from Stormhaven, probably Western Reach and she either lived with you and your parents or you lived with her, but your lack of law obedience is typical for growing up without parental guidance. My guess is they died when you were young."

She looked like she wanted to say something, but thought otherwise. Since she didn't ask and he felt no need to lecture her about how her amulet had helped with his conclusions, he continued. "You grew up on a farm, possibly a fishing village, but most of the coast wasn't very hospitable after the corsairs' invasion of Wayrest as far as I recall. But... admittedly my knowledge of your homeland's history is mostly superficial as it's petty intrigues are tiresome."

"Damn...", she muttered. "Remind me to hide my diary from you..."

"Just observations. It's a job requirement." He had expected annoyance, anger even like most others showed – worshipers of Talos mostly – when he confronted them with facts, but the woman in front of him just looked thoughtful. Maybe a little impressed even.

"Did you come to Skyrim by ship? It is the easiest way from High Rock."  
"Um... no..." Another wary sideglance. She looked uncomfortable and a sudden suspicion dawned on him. There weren't many ways over the broad mountain chains that acted as Skyrim's natural borders and as far as he knew not a single safe pass from High Rock directly.

"Hammerfell?", he asked but already knew the answer even before she pursed her lips and shook her head. After a short silence Armion sighed.

"You crossed over here, didn't you? In County Bruma?"

She had the decency to blush slightly before she nodded, but couldn't hide her smile completely. Armion tilted his head back and exhaled noisily. Even six years ago she had already pranced right under his nose. He knew there were smugglers trafficking people over the border in both directions, but there wasn't much he could do about it. It was still mainly the Legion's jurisdiction.

"Sorry..." Muriel's voice brought him back and he sat straight again. He heard the laugh that she was trying to hide, but the gleam out of her eyes gave her away. "If it helps, I got caught shortly after."

It didn't. "Where?"

"Just in the Rift, we..."

"No", he interrupted her with an eye-roll. "Where did you cross over? Serpent's Trail?"

"Oh... you know of that one?", Muriel asked with unease.

"That smuggler route is an open secret. If I had my way, it had been shut down a long time ago. But apparently it is convenient to keep it open." Armion scowled. He had tried to convince his superiors more than once to raid the cave leading to Skyrim.

"For the Thalmor?" She seemed to be confused and he had to remind himself of her young age to pass over the naïvity of her question.

"Maybe... but you'd be surprised how beneficial some illegal activities are for your precious Empire."

"Really?", she muttered absently. "Anyway, we didn't use Serpent's Trail. We went over the mountains further to the east", she said quietly after a while. Armion looked at her sharply. It meant that there were other ways to Skyrim he didn't know about.

"I need an exact location."

"I... I don't know. We tried several paths before we found one that was passable. I think it changes depending on the snow – but I can try to mark it on a map", she added when she saw his annoyed look.

"You will." His voice didn't tolerate any dissent and closed the topic for now. Again they had drifted from the initial question. Armion considered himself to have a retentive memory, but even he was bound to loose track if this continued. "This explains the where and the when... but not the why. Why did you leave High Rock, Muriel? Why travel all the way to Skyrim to cross over a closed border to a land you didn't know? It just seems... unlikely."

She yawned and he had to surpress his own. This whole day, not only the walk but also the fight in the ruin, had effectively tired his body, but since the potion had eased the headache, his mind was wide awake and he was unwilling to let the hard work of getting here remain unrewarded with the little progress he had made so far.

"You want me to start at the beginning?", she asked without expecting an answer. "Okay... I lived on a farm until I was eighteen, you got that right. Do you want to know what smell I woke up to every morning? Sheep dung."

Her eyes reflected the fire in front of them as she gathered her thoughts. He let her and watched the flames turning the usual brown of her irises to nearly black. Telling from her gruff tone, it was obvious that the memory pained her.

"Sounds lovely", Armion said with a bored voice and ignored the dark glance that hit him. "With your parents?"  
"Grandparents."

"Do I have to worm everything out of you?"

Muriel closed her eyes and tilted her head like she was trying to get her neck to crack, but gave up with a sigh. "No", she said. "Fine."

She fell into a brooding silence and he was about to interrupt it when she spoke again.

"My mother's from Wayrest, but I lived on my grandparent's farm my whole life. She... she had left me there, I'm not sure why... I asked, but they never told me anything specific. I guess it's better this way, who wants to hear they're unwanted...?"

Muriel pushed her chin forward and looked at him challengingly. "You're sure bursting to comment", she bit when he remained silent. Armion raised an eyebrow.

"Not only am I a peasant, I'm also a bastard."

There were indeed many thoughts that went through his mind, starting with a laugh and taunt to a remark on her mother's selfishness, but right now setting her off was way to easy and the explosion of anger was sure to end any further conversation. Besides, dropping a comment was always more rewarding when she didn't expect a thing. He had to make sure to remember to bring it up another time, but for now he settled with twisting his mouth.

"Who's your father?"

Her narrowed eyes watched him a few moments before she shrugged. "Don't know. Never met him."

Armion nodded and wrote a small notation. Notes and key words had to do for now, the real work always started later when he had to tidy up.

"So, I had the farm right, the region as well as the social class – no judgement included", he added after his recapitulation brought him another sinister glance.

"Since when?"

"No outpoken judgement then", he admitted with a tight-lipped smile. "What else?"

"Well, you were right about the corsairs – or at least I think so. I was young when the city was pillaged, but before that my mother had visited the farm once or twice and afterwards... nothing. Maybe she died, maybe they abducted her, I don't know... I never asked. My grandmother wasn't the same after this... she died a few years later..."

Her voices faded towards the end and she stared into the fireplace like the memory was replaying before her inner eye. Armion surpressed another yawn when his tired body reminded him that it was getting late and the Dragonborn shot him another sharp look.

"If I bore you..."

"No, please continue", he sneered and sat up straight. "Why did you leave your childhood's nest? Did the prospect of adventure call you? Or maybe you ran from an unwanted husband? Most people are either running away from or towards something. So... which one are you, Muriel?"

She stared at him as she tried to find the deeper meaning and finally gave up with a frustrated sigh. "Both. I started running away from High Rock and ended up running towards Alduin."  
Armion raised his eyebrows to show that this was not a satisfiyng answer and with another sigh she let her fingers run through her hair. "Look, one night a group of bandits attacked our farm. My grandfather told me to run and so I ran."

"And you courageously left him behind", he concluded as he watched her dividing her hair into three strands.

"I couldn't fight, never learned how to...", she said and her fingers intuitively weaved the strands into a braid. "I hid in the wilderness for two days and when I returned, the house was burned down and my grandfather was still lying where they had slain him. They had taken everything of value, even the sheep and the rest was destroyed... but he had told me about my grandmother's jewels, hidden somewhere inside the well, so I took them. I... I buried him and left."

She sighed deeply and remained silent for a few moments. Armion didn't want to interrupt her, now that she was finally this talkative, but he couldn't help but wonder how often she had told the story before. He was sure there was no official record of it, probably even the Imperial Legion didn't know.

"My plan was to reach the Imperial City", she continued quietly. "It's where my grandfather grew up and I thought... maybe someone wanted to know what had happened to him. I made it all the way through Hammerfell, but I ran out of gold around Chorrol."

"Still no reason to cross the border unauthorised", Armion noted.

"Do you want to hear this or not?", she pouted and since he had been the one asking, he simply gestured her to go on. "I stayed in Chorrol for a few weeks to raise money, but jobs were rare and the pay was low so I... um... eventually started stealing."  
"Why am I not surprised?", he asked dryly.

She ignored him and scratched her chin in thought. "In the beginning I only stole what I needed, food mostly... then I met a few people who were willing to pay me for any stolen goods and I started to work for them. Nothing professional... and it didn't take long until the guards found out. When the others fled Chorrol I kind of just went along..."

"To the Imperial City?" Armion finished the note he was writing with a swift flick of the quill.

"No...", she said deep in thought. "Like I said... I just followed them. Somehow it felt like the right thing to do... like I had to, you know... and when they decided to pay a guy to get us out of Cyrodiil and over the border, I just..."  
She suddenly stopped and a deep frown appeared on her face.

"What is it?"

"I...", she hesitated. "I just..."

"Muriel?", Armion asked, but she didn't seem to hear him. Her eyes glazed over and her lips formed words he couldn't make out.  
"I... I don't remember.", Muriel whispered and tore her gaze away from whatever far away place she was currently seeing. "It's like I was sleepwalking... like I... wasn't myself..."

"Again I am not surprised", Armion said. "Or did you really think it was a coincidence that a Dragonborn, who isn't even a Nord, happened to stumble into Skyrim just at the moment dragons were coming back?"

He could nearly see the cogs turning in her head as she stared at him. There was no doubt some higher power had had its hand in the Dragonborn's journey and had influenced her enough to be were she had needed to be. From what he had observed, she wasn't a very religious person – she hadn't attended mass once since she had arrived – but to be fair, neither was he. At least not in the common meaning. As far as his impression went, the Aedra didn't care much whether or not someone followed strict rituals or worshipped thrice a week.

"Doom-driven...", he heard her mumble to herself.

"What?"

"Paarthurnax said that about me... nevermind... I... it's nothing. We... we made it over and ended up somewhere in the Rift", the Dragonborn continued and hugged her knees. Armion still watched her too warily to completely follow her words. "Unfortunately out path led us way too close to an Imperial camp and even worse, the convoy bringing Ulfric Stormcloak to Cyrodiil had made halt there so the Legion's nerves were raw anyway... not to mention that we probably looked like Stormcloaks... Some tried to fight them, but in the end all of us were either dead or imprisoned. I must have received a blow to the head because I woke up on a cart. I later learned that it was because of us that Tullius decided to execute the whole convoy in Helgen instead of bringing the prisoners to the Imperial City..."

"You were at Helgen?", Armion interrupted her. He couldn't quite follow the way the words suddenly poured out of her while her mind still seemed occupied elsewhere.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Muriel blinked away the last remains of glassiness and turned her head to look at him. "I'm surprised your file doesn't cover that because I remember seeing Elenwen at Helgen... but I suppose her attention was completely taken up by Ulfric, mh?"

They held each others gazes for some time, trying to size each other up. Armion wasn't sure how much she actually knew regarding Ulfric Stormcloak and the Aldmeri Dominion, even his position and the security clearance it brought along didn't allow him full access to every detail of classified information. But Elenwen's dossier did mention missing files after the infiltration. Maybe he had misjudged the Dragonborn, maybe she wasn't that naïve after all. She seemed to be talkative about most irrelevant things but only showed knowledge of important topics in short remarks. He had to make sure to catch the hints and get to the bottom of them, but at least they were at a point in her story again where it was easier to tell whether or not she was telling the truth.

"And what might you think you know about this?", Armion wondered out loud, but she smiled and cocked her head.

"I don't know anything, but Elenwen got there extremely fast, don't you think? Maybe Tullius wasn't nervous because of a possible Stormcloak ambush...", Muriel mirrowed his light, chatty tone perfectly. "But... it doesn't matter now, does it? Ulfric's dead."

He remembered her saying that the stolen files were stored away in a place she deemed safe. Maybe he should suggest a search of the Dragonborn's house in the future, but she actually had a point. Did it matter? Was it worth the effort – just to regain a document which held admittedly the probability to compromise the Dominion's efforts, but apparently not enough to let the First Emissary see a need for action?

"Not your doing, as I heard", he noted and her smile grew slightly colder. "What happened next?"

"My head on a chopping block, a dragon, fire and lots and lots of screams", she answered with a yawn. "But that's not for today."

Disappointed that she had decided to end the conversation, Armion returned his attention back to the flames. Next to him, the young woman got to her feet, picked up a few logs and put them on the fire. After that she just stood there until Armion looked at her again. He noticed the uncomfortable look on her face and her fingers tugging nervously at her sleeves. His eyebrows rose and it took a moment until he realised that they hadn't specified the sleeping arrangements.

"Should we keep watch or...", she started awkwardly. Their bedrolls were still drying and because Muriel had used the last blankets to wrap up the bodies, the options were limited to either sharing the bed or trying to pass through the night on the hard floor. Armion knew he would do neither.

"As you can imagine I am more than a little reserved about sleeping anywhere around you", he said gracefully.

"Then how...?"  
He stretched his legs towards the fire. "You can do whatever you want, I will stay right here. And you sure need the bed more – you look like someone has pulled you out of a crypt."

She frowned at his patronizing tone and stayed where she was. "I won't attack you in your sleep, if that's what you're fearing", he mocked her. "But I won't watch after you either. If you feel better, push the table in front of the door. Even if someone's foolish enough to ignore five corpses on the porch, it should at least make enough noise."

Muriel thought about his suggestion for a moment and then, with her head a little too high to be believably comfortable with the situation, pushed the wooden table in front of the steps that led down from the door. With hesitating steps she crossed the room behind his back and he listened as she lowered herself on the bed.

"I just hope you don't snore", he said pointedly with his gaze remaining on the flames. Somewhere behind him the Dragonborn grumbled a respond, but after that silence settled over the cottage. It was tense and he knew she was listening into it, trying to catch every sound he made, every breath probably. With a smile he placed the notebook back on the sideboard, corked the inkwell and tried to relax as much as the wooden chair allowed it. He didn't know how long he had stared into the flames before their hypnotizing flicker and the warmth on his sore limbs slowly dragged him into sleep as his body demanded its well-earned rest.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

_Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot._

_My muse has returned (to some degree) and I finally managed to push through editing the next two chapters. And unlike the last one (which I will probably rewrite in the future) I really like this one. Hope you enjoy the first chapter of 2021 – if so, leave me a review. You'll make my day :)_

* * *

Nineteen

He woke up with a start. There was a moment of confusion about where he was, before he remembered and his eyes began to make sense of his surroundings. A scream had disturbed the slumber he hadn't meant to fall into and Armion rose from the chair, ignoring the protest of his stiff limbs, instinctively letting his magic search for threats. The room was nearly in complete darkness, the fire had burned down and the only light source were the dying embers in the fireplace. Not nearly enough to see anything other than silhouettes, but nothing seemed out of place. His spell detected only the sleeping woman on the other side of the room as a nearby lifeform.

Gasping filled the silence, irregular and trembling. His hand found the corner of the bookshelf and carefully navigated him around. The woman was moving restlessly under the covers, the gasps that were definitely hers interrupted by short sobs. What was going on? She had to be asleep, Armion was sure she would never risk him hearing this if she had been awake.

"Dragonborn", he hissed into the general direction of the bed to wake her up, but the panting didn't stop. With slow steps he approached the bed and just listened into the darkness for a while. When the sobs didn't ceased, but even increased, he tried again.

"Muriel?" The idea that switching to her name would bring a different result was quickly crushed by a whimper. He could just try to ignore her for the rest of the night and demand an explanation in the morning, but he also knew immediately that he would fail long before sunrise. With an annoyed sigh, Armion leaned down and found her shoulder in the darkness. She struggled against the sudden grip, but even after he had managed to turn her on her back, she didn't wake up. He started to shake her, first with one then with both hands, but the more he tried, the more desperate her struggle got until something collided painfully with his jaw.

"What in Auri-El's name...?!", he cursed loudly. Had that woman just punched him?!

One of his hands let go of her to examine where her fist had hit him when Muriel finally woke up with another gasping scream. He felt her escaping his grip as she fled to the other side of the mattress where nothing more was heard than her heavy breathing.

Armion let a small orb of light erupt from his hand and sent it flying. It hovered above them, immediately lit up his surroundings and finally allowed him to fully see what was going on. Muriel was on the other edge of the bed, staring with big eyes at the sudden light, her hands clawed into the sheets.

"Enough of this", he commanded sharply, but no reaction. It was like she hadn't even heard him. Traces of tears dampened her cheeks, but instead of quickly wiping them away, Muriel kept staring at the orb above the bed, her eyes scared and slightly haunted, her hands shaking. Wherever her mind was right now, it was surely not here. Armion slowly lowered himself unto the other edge of the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. That was truly not the way he wanted to be woken up, this woman surely had a talent for disturbing his rest. His first impulse was to curse at her, but he was sure it'd lead to no other result. The apathy in her eyes was like the one of sleepwalkers, unblinking and motionless, but it felt different. Armion was sure he had woken her from her sleep.

The urge to just slap her was strong, but he resisted for his own good. Who knew how someone capable of shattering an Astronach with nothing but a few words would react when startled?

Neither of them moved until the spell wore off. Muriel let out a small whimper when the light vanished, seemingly leaving behind an even darker darkness and, unsure whatelse to do, Armion cast another orb into the air. They watched it float above the bed and, apart from him glancing over from time to time to check if her trembling had stopped, remained silent. When the light died this time, he had already prepared another one and send it flying before the darkness took over.

Armion didn't count how many times he renewed the spell until Muriel's shivers weren't noticable through the mattress anymore. He still wasn't sure what to make of the situation. The sudden awakening, the Dragonborn's panic – he couldn't think of any solution other than concentrating on keeping the room lit. The magical candlelight was a common way to pacify and calm Altmeri children, but never had he thought he'd have to use it this far from home and in this context.

Nearly half an hour passed before Muriel moved the first time. Pulling out her hand from under the sheet, she hesitatingly stretched her arm towards the light to touch it, but it vanished just before her fingers reached it. A little huff escaped her lips and with a slight smile Armion summond another light to his palm with a different spell. This one wouldn't hover and when he reached over to pass it on to her, a soft chuckle escaped him over the Breton's confused blinking when the sphere stuck to her hand. With wide eyes she turned it, examined it from all sides, even freed her other hand from the sheets to touch her palm and furrowed her brows when her fingers couldn't feel it as the magical orb radiated just light, not warmth. Finally her breathing slowed down to a more relaxed rhythm.

It was a strangely calming scene he witnessed – the slayer of dragons carefully playing with an orb of light like a child. Whenever the previous one died, Armion passed over another magelight. Each time he shortened the distance, each time the young woman let herself be lured further back into the middle of the bed. They continued this game for a while until suddenly Muriel didn't wait for him to hand it over, but reached for his hand as it iluminated again. He watched her watching his hand as she turned it in the air, stroking over his palms like she wanted to find the source of the orb. After a few minutes in which he kept the spell up without sending it off, she let her hand sink back on the sheets, turned on her side facing him and curled up. A soft smile appeared on her face while her eyes remained absent, yet relaxed. He had seen her smile like this before, but had to admit that this smile wasn't meant to go into his particular direction. Armion frowned. It was... honest.

Armion stared at her until her lids grew heavy and her eyes closed again. The shallow breathing told him that she had fallen asleep. He let the magic in his hand diminish until the light was gone and returned to the chair in front of the fire, but sleep shouldn't come to him again this night.

* * *

Muriel awoke to the comfortable silence only an early morning offered. She always enjoyed those mornings, getting up before the rest of the town, sipping tea on her porch and watching Lake Honrich getting bathed in the rising sun. Watching the sunrise had always appealed more to her than watching the sunset. That there were people who preferred the sight of a leaving sun was beyond her understanding. The beginning of a new day always filled her with the feeling of calm certainty that hope was never lost, but renewed everyday. It had become her mantra and ritual in the past years, maybe because without it, she had never come this far. But even with it the enjoyable mornings had become rarer and rarer.

It had to be around that time now because the first birds started their song on the outside to greet the day. With a content yawn she stretched her limbs under the warm covers. She felt sore and exhausted. Not from the struggles of the previous day, but it was the feeling she was used to waking up to by now. Normally it had the effect of driving her out of bed, to busy herself with daily tasks. Today all she wanted was to stay where she was. The fog of her still dozing mind lifted when she pulled the blanket further up and caught a scent that wasn't hers. For a second before opening her eyes, she was sure to wake up to her bedroom in Riften, but this wasn't Honeyside, this wasn't her blanket or her bed. She had to blink a few times to remember where she was and, when the memory came back, she quickly opened her lids completely to search for her travelling companion. The cottage was empty, the Thalmor nowhere to be seen. Muriel pushed herself up to her elbows and scanned the room. His robes were gone, but the dark backpack was still on one of the dressers – he hadn't just left then and was somewhere around. The table which she had pushed over to block the door had been moved just enough so the door would open. For a moment the thought of sleeping through Armion pushing furniture around made her uncomfortable. It should've woken her up, her senses should've been far more on edge this night. Who knew what he could've done?

With this thought the comfort of the morning was truly gone and Muriel got up to check her armor. It had dried thoroughly during the night, as had her backpack and other belongings. Glad to wear her own clothes again, she quickly changed. Getting her sword back on her hip and repacking everything felt reassuring. In a way she was glad that she wasn't alone on this journey. Stripping herself of all of her equipment while being somewhere in the wilderness was never a good idea, but at least this time there had been another pair of ears to listen to any suspicious sounds – even if the ears were pointy and belonged to a Thalmor. Travelling with someone always required a certain level of trust, but, this time more than others, limited to a more or less specific period of time. Like on this journey she hadn't hesitated to give Armion one of the potions from her own stock, but if she'd done the same in Bruma, she wasn't sure. Still... that her mind had decided to filter out any noise the elf had made in the morning as non-threatening... it was disturbing to say the least.

Muriel found breakfast in form of an apple on one of the shelves and shoved aside the worrying feeling. The late owners surely wouldn't mind if she took it. While munching on the fruit, her thoughts traveled to the couple wrapped up just outside the door. Would someone miss them? They had lived quite a solitary live out here, but even they had to buy some of their supplies somewhere. Through the rain she had seen a small vegetable garden behind the cottage, but surely not enough to grow everything of their own. Would some shopkeeper notice that they didn't come anymore?

Just like she and her grandfather had lived in solitude, so had they. Letting the apple sink from her mouth, Muriel wondered about the same things she had often wondered about in the past. Had someone noticed that she was gone? That the old man from the little farm had stopped coming to the market? Had someone rebuilt their house – or was it still a ruin after all these years? With a sigh she finished her breakfast and lifted her backpack. Worrying about the past had never helped and it wouldn't help her finding the cave and earn that bounty.

With the sunrise in front the house and the first rays dancing on the lake, it was indeed like waking up at Honeyside – except that she never had a bunch of corpses on her doorstep that she needed to step over or an elf in dark robes on the shore of Lake Honrich. Armion stood with his back towards the house, the last moisture from his robes – or was it the morning dew? How long was he standing there? – steaming away in the warmth of the sunlight. The rays hit his blonde hair and let his head glow like a crown and for a moment she could understand where his people got their attitude from. They could be imposing as long as they didn't open their mouths. The elf didn't turn around even when she let the door shut.

"Good morning", Muriel tried to get his attention but he didn't answer. Instead he crossed his arms in front of his chest and continued staring over the lake. She furrowed her brows. Being used to rudeness behind sarcasm, she had never thought him to be the type to simply ignore someone. Maybe he hadn't slept well, Muriel couldn't completely rule out the possibility that she had indeed snored and she grinned at the thought. Or maybe he was offended because she had announced to take the rest of the trip on her own. Who knew what bothered a Thalmor – beside the obvious, like someone not being a mer or worshipping the wrong god.

"I will get going now", she called over but still no reaction. With her hand she shielded her eyes from the sun. "I'll be back in the afternoon, I think."

Was that the hint of a nod? Maybe. Muriel shook her head at the odd behaviour and shrugged. The moods of that man really didn't concern her and she had a task at hand.

Leaving the small cottage behind, she walked up the path to the north and pulled out her now wavy map. Luckily the rain hadn't washed out any of the markings completely, but the newest one stood out against the rest nevertheless. The distance between the cottage and her destination looked manageable enough to find her way back without problems. The path she was walking on now should lead her nearly to the foot of the mountains and from there on she had to search for the cave. No one had said anything about how far it reached into the mountains, she had been in and out of caves anywhere between a few minutes and days. All she could do was hoping to keep her word of being back out within the average time or the Thalmor might lose his patience. It shouldn't take more than a few hours to reach the cave and until then she would enjoy the newly found calm in the forest around her.

* * *

Armion still stood at the shore after the Dragonborn was long gone. He had heard her leaving but was really surprised at the light tone in her voice. He had at least expected her to be embarrassed, even if she didn't mention the incident with a single word. Did she even remember? Her eyes had been blank the whole time they had watched his spell lightening the room and he was convinced she wasn't good enough at acting to pull off a facade like this. His face darkened. If that woman didn't remember startling, punching and keeping him up all night, he had to remind her. Maybe he would even tell her how she had held his hand. Oh, she would be mortified.

A slight smile flashed over his face when he saw movement on the other side of the lake. Long before dawn he had taken his position, at first to escape the restlessness that had befallen him and then because it gave him something else to keep an eye on than the sleeping Breton. Armion stepped into the shadow of the trees that lined the lake. There was no need to be seen until he decided so.

His thoughts went back to the moment Muriel had grabbed his hand. She just had to be been out of her mind or she wouldn't have dared to do so. But it wasn't the fact that she had touched him so freely that occupied his mind. It was the way she had stared at the magic erupting from his hand and the light surrounding it that he couldn't forget. With eyes full of wonder and strangely... at peace? Armion's brows furrowed deeply. It wasn't a reaction he was used to, normally pain and horror were the prominent emotions on the faces of people witnessing his hands light up with a spell. It really bothered him that he still saw the Dragonborn's soft expression in his mind.

Luckily there was something that would take his mind of these things and it had just moved on the other side again. He walked silently through the trees and used their shadows to hide long enough to get as close as possible. Normally he liked to rely on the strength in numbers, but a single Thalmor agent could still cause more devastation than the handful of bandits these woods inhabited. There were three of them on the shore, one even kneedeep in the water and maybe hoping to catch some fish. Armion didn't know how many more were at the camp that was hidden by trees. Not that it mattered much, he was looking forward to burning it to the ground one way or another.

More inhabitants just meant a short delay of the end result and maybe a change of tactics. Even simple barbarians became a threat if a large number attacked at once – which was for him not only one of the main reasons for the way the war between the Empire and his people had ended, but also the primary threat coming from the races of men: the sheer ability to double their population in less than half a century. With a grim smile Armion tore his thoughts back to the bandit camp. Strength in numbers applied to nearly any faction, it just varied by the strength of the single unit. Three was the usual number of Thalmor agents travelling together, their united force was enough to keep most threats at bay. Bandits surely needed more than triple the men to have the same effect. From the movement of torches he had seen before sunrise there weren't enough to overpower him, so he had no doubt about the outcome. With that thought Armion stepped out of the shadows, casting Ironflesh at the same time and readied the first fireball in his hands.

It was time to pay Rondar a visit.


End file.
